


Cause I found my heart upon the southern ground

by haveyouseenmyuser



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, High School AU, I hate tags, M/M, how does one tag purposefully, slow burn sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10085828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haveyouseenmyuser/pseuds/haveyouseenmyuser
Summary: This is an AU where Louis, Harry and Liam are in their senior year of high school and have been best friends for a long time; the other AU details become clear within the first couple of chapters, I think.*I know nothing and this is all a long and elaborate lie.*SFW. Enjoy =) or don’t idk what do i know





	1. Part 1: Prologue, or The Catalytic Convo

Liam turns up the music.

Turning to take in the atmosphere of his crowded living room, he allows himself a satisfied smirk; “We Are Young” is blaring loudly from Louis' improvised speaker set, and as he skims over the fifty plus school mates going wild on the impromptu dancefloor, Liam thinks it is the perfect song for the moment.

His eyes scan through a sea of recently familiar faces, and he finds himself automatically searching for his old friends. Oh- there’s Niall, in that group of twerkers, good on him! Looking further, Liam barks a loud laugh when he spots Zayn, dancing the Makarena at some infinitely confused blonde girl near the kitchen. And look, there’s Ed, he actually looks normal for once, and Liam wonders who that girl is– but whoa, what the hell?!

There is what seems to be a six-foot leggy blonde, literally grinding on Harry – is he okay? Liam frowns. He moves to go up there because slow down, buddy, but Harry seems like he might be reluctantly going along with it, swaying his narrow frame forwards into the girl's front, so Liam hesitates.

As seems to be the telepathic rule of the universe, Harry looks over and meets Liam's discontented gaze. He inquires with his eyes, and Harry blushes slightly and turns his face away, and Liam thinks that that’s not the body language of someone looking for aid, but more likely of someone who is awkward and shy but not unwilling; and so with a final warning glance in the direction of Handsy – a glance which he knows remains unreceived, because fuck, stop staring at Harry – Liam averts his poor scarred eyes.

Automatically his gaze rakes the room for Louis. He is usually the type of person that’s always easy to find at parties, but of course he would choose this time to make use of his small size.

Bouncing slightly with the beat to blend in, Liam makes his way down the narrow hallway, desperately trying not to check for nasty noises of inappropriate guests, as he rushes past their bedroom doors and onto the porch.

The porch, where Louis sits, sprawled on a green armchair; the same green armchair he cursed and swore at earlier, as he was hauling it out. He is sprawled lazily, with the sleeves of his best jacket hitched up, and long bangs curtaining drunkenly over one eye; holding what looks to be a full glass of rum in his hand.

One glazed blue eye snaps towards the noise of Liam's entrance.

Towards Liam, and away from a pretty black-haired Filipina boy, perched on the arm of the cursed green chair.

“Oh, hey bro.” Louis smiles, but it’s expectant, and so Liam grins, and nods, and waves.

“Louis, I was looking for you! Hi, how are you, I’m Liam, the other host” he adds, meeting the stranger’s dark eyes and waving slightly.

He nods in recognition, and a sultry “Niko” is spoken, and Liam continues.

“The party’s going good, no?”

Louis smiles, and it looks tired and patient and Liam has only a vague idea why. “Yeah, Liam. Everyone is rocking their socks off. Which reminds me, we should invest in some kind of method for barricading our bedrooms.” His voice is low, and when Niko throws in an amused “Locks?” Louis only smiles gently, and continues at a disgusted Liam. “I don’t trust my sheets to not give me a multitude of diseases after tonight.”

Liam palm-faces in mock disgust, laughing fondly at the soft-spoken joke. It doesn’t matter, he thinks, because he knows they will crash in the living room like they always do, but he doesn’t say anything. They will crash in the living room because of course Harry won’t take the girl home, so Louis won’t sleep with the boy, or if he does it will be quick and discrete, in his bedroom enveloped by loud music and commotion, and of course they will crash in the living room. Liam doesn’t say anything, because this is the unspoken kind of knowledge, and so he laughs instead, excuses himself, and returns to party central.

…

Liam yanks, huffing and puffing and cursing, at the last piece of furniture they had yet to haul back - the light rainbow bean bag, which should be easy, and why isn’t it easy, goddammit? It’s not budging. He had just been emerging from the hallway into the living room, and the bag isn’t having it. Liam wanted to sit and weep like a child.

“LOUIS, all your gay things hate me!” he scowls, yanking once more for good measure.

“Is it caught on the floor boards? Don’t fucki- Liam! Don’t rip my gay ass-bag!” Louis slurs in protest. Previously unphazed by his troubles, the boys had been nesting into the cushioned sofa bed, not even remotely jumping at the chance to help him. Liam tries pulling upwards.

“Liam, I’m just saying, that thing is taming a sea of Styrofoam balls, they are crazy, you don’t want that shit on you, I remember I holed Niall's once and it was like a fu—HEY!” Harry’s rant is rudely cut short when a stray pillow comes flying at his face. “Fine, fine – Louis go help him, you know you can deal with balls, even small white ones– oof!” A second pillow comes crashing down, followed by a middle finger and a laughed “Eat a dick, Harry” as Louis strides over to the base of the hallway.

“Jesus, Liam,” he breathes, fiddling with a patch of fabric caught in the floorboards. “How are you still so drunk? You lightweight.”

“We can’t all have superhuman alcohol tolerance at five-foot seven, Louis. Now are you done?”

“Aha!” Louis exclaims victoriously as the bag comes loose. “And I’m five-foot nine, Liam.”

“In shoes,” Liam sticks his tongue out as he carries the bag to the living room. “It’s alright though, I’m sure you make up for it in other areas,” he teases, winking at Louis’ mock outrage.

Liam flops the bag in the centre of the dimly-lit, mostly-cleaned room, and collapses into it, facing the sofa bed, along the width of which Harry half-sits, propped by a heap of pillows, arms waiting outstretched as Louis climbs on the mattress with his guitar, laying his head back onto Harry's side.

Liam lets out a long, tense breath, letting the soft strums of Louis' guitar and the small, vague giggles of the two boys lull him into relaxation.

“That’s it, guys! Our first hosted high school party. We survived!” Liam raises his fists, squeezing his eyes shut in an adorable show of success.

“Yeah, we might have, but I think someone puked in our tree…” Louis informs them, glancing regretfully to a small potted tree in the corner, strumming a sad tune in its honor. Harry chuckles softly, letting his fingers play with Louis' soft brown locks.

“If it’s any consolation,” Harry tries, “I put both your sheets in the wash, and I don’t think anyone did the nasty in them.”

Louis hums in vague relief.

Suddenly alert, Liam sits up, looking pointedly at Harry. “Speaking of nasty, what in the name of unholiness was going on with you and that girl?”

“Her?” Harry laughs, blushing. “Oh god. Let us never speak of that.”

“I was so close to coming over and defending your honor, or like blinding her with my dance moves or something, but it didn’t seem like you were in trouble so…” Liam glances briefly at Louis, who is silently strumming his guitar, eyes closed – whether at the gentle sound, or the sensation of Harry's hand in his hair, it will never be known.

Harry laughs. “Yeah, no, I wasn’t really.”

“You didn’t look too into it, either,” Liam frowns in question.

Harry laughed nervously. “No, well, umm, you know me, I wasn’t into it into it, I guess,” he stumbles on his words, giving up and sipping his lukewarm beer with a grimace.

“You know,” Louis pipes up, “I don’t get that.”

Harry looks down at the boy's face, humming in question.

“Well like, I mean,” Louis starts, his focus still on the guitar, “why do stuff like that if you’re not absolutely into it?” He pauses. “The point of it is to have fun, and enjoy it, I can’t think of any other good reason to spend a perfectly good party letting –a Leggy Blonde? – try and hump you into a carpet burn.” Liam laughs then, and Harry giggles, but proceeds to scrunch his nose and shrug hesitantly.

“I guess, I dunno, I guess I don’t really get into stuff like that, because I’m – awkward, or – I dunno, it’s just the type of thing you do? At parties, I mean. It’s what people do?” He shrugs uncertainly, his gaze tracing over the mop of hair sprawled over his torso.

Liam observes his best friend for a moment. Loose brown curls frame his fair, clean face, and his long body is slender, gentle, almost fragile. In Louis' soft white cotton shirt, he looks vulnerable and a little lost. This is what the topic does to him, he knows – he doesn’t mind talking about his social anxiety with the two of them, but it makes him all small and shy. He's set his beer down, and the other hand has joined the first in a gentle tangle with Louis' hair, which seems to be more for his own comfort, now. Liam sighs, wishing Louis would be just a little more present right now, but knowing that he ultimately can’t blame him. At least his head seems to be soothing Harry.

“Are you staying over, Haz? I can lend you some PJ bottoms,” Liam asks gently.

Louis looks up to him teasingly. “Did you call your parents and guardians and tell them you’re having a sleepover,” he mocks softly, sticking his tongue out.

Harry shoves a middle finger right into Louis' face, before nodding a “Thanks Liam. And just for the record, the amount of abuse I’m getting for not jumping at first chance to move out is absurd.”

“How fun would it be if you lived here, though,” Liam calls from his bedroom. He emerges with a pair of snoopy PJ bottoms and tosses them at Harry before slumping back into Louis' gay ass-bag.

“He practically lives here anyway,” Louis notes. “We’ve had this place for not half a year, and about two thirds of the clothes in my closet seem to be made for a giant.” Liam laughs in agreement, and the two spend the next few minutes chatting aimlessly about the perks of living together, while Harry struggles out of his jeans and into Liam's PJs; all the while not removing Louis' head from his stomach. It’s a trying effort. He tosses his jeans aside, effectively ending the ramble, and relaxes into the pillows, easing five fingers into Louis' hair.

A dim silence fills the room as Harry's thoughtful gaze stares away into nowhere. Liam knows he is thinking back to their conversation, and wants to talk, but won’t know what to say, and Louis won’t say anything, and so Liam speaks.

“So… How are things with that girl you went out with?”

Harry scrunches his nose and laughs nervously.

“Umm… okay, I guess, she's nice.”

“Have you… How many dates is this now?” Liam inquires.

“Umm…” Harry gives Louis a calculative look.

“Three?” Louis suggests, a shaggy head tilting up.

“Yeah, third. I’m not horrible” he chuckles, defending himself when Liam raises an eyebrow. “It’s just, spanned over a few weeks, so. No, like two weeks. Three?” he shrugs. “It’s going okay, I think. We, umm… She kissed me?” But it sounds like a question, and he scrunches his nose, and fiddles with a handful of hair, and Liam knows sighing isn’t an appropriate reaction, but what else is he to do?

The sigh doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, who drops his gaze and chews on his lip, and this isn’t what Liam wanted.

 

“Well… What’s he like?” Liam notices that the strumming has slowly come to a stop, as Louis' way of saying ‘I’m quiet, but I’m here and I’m listening,' and Haz clears his throat slightly.

“She’s, umm, Kendall, that’s her name, she’s nice, I don’t really… Umm… I think, she does photography?” He shrugs. “I’m still warming up to her, I guess. Maybe I just need time?” he looks hopefully at Liam.

Umm, yeah. No. What? Liam wants to tell him to fuck it, and not do anything that makes him uncomfortable. Liam wants to tell him that ‘I think he likes photography’ is not how Harry would describe someone he likes, even though he doesn’t really know what he would say, because he never likes.

Liam shrugs.

“Oh, that’s great guys, thank you, what would I do without you pair of Yodas,” Harry laughs.

“Well,” Louis strums, “It’s one thing to need time to feel comfortable. It’s another thing,” another strum, “to not have feelings.” Louis pauses, letting Harry interrupt him, but Harry just watches him thoughtfully. “If you like her, and want to be with her, and butterflies and all that lovely jazz, then great, you know, yay, give yourself time, take it slowly, you’ll warm up. But if you feel meh…” Louis trails off, and doesn’t finish, because it’s his best-friend duty to start that sentence, but it’s not his place to finish, and he strums a few gentle chords.

“But. What if I don’t know if I like her?” Harry scrunches his nose.

Liam contemplates for a moment. “So, he’s nice, we’ve got that, that’s pretty much all we’ve got but okay, I’m not picky; so, is there, you know, a spark?” He accentuates the last word with a dramatic whisper and jazz hands. Louis rolls his eyes and laughs; Harry blushes.

“Well, like, that too, what even is a spark?” Harry drags out helplessly.

“Bro,” Louis gives another eye-roll.” Does he give you adult feelings, or not.” Harry swats him on the shoulder and clutches his head closer, running a hand through bangs more consistently.

“Well, I mean, I can’t deny that she’s good-looking?”

Liam barks a laugh. “Okay, I can’t deny that Louis is good-looking; does not mean we’re about to hit the sack!” Louis groans in disgust, throwing a playful pillow and a ‘you wish’ at Liam. “You know what I mean? A spark is…” Liam sighs melodramatically. “…when Zayn Malik winks at you across the bar, or when– hey!” Liam swats away another, uncalled for, pillow. “I was just trying to help!” Louis flips him off nevertheless, and turns back to Harry, who is absently ignoring the interaction.

“Well, I mean, no, I don’t feel any kind of spark, I’m not sure what even is that, so, like, what if I’m asexual, or something?” He gasps. “Oh my god, guys, what if I’m asexual??”

Louis chuckles fondly. “Babe, you’re not asexual. Or you are, and that’s okay, but I doubt it. It’s okay, don’t panic, please let my hair live,” he laughs, bringing his hand to his hair and uncurling a fist gripping there, and pats Harry's head of curls reassuringly. “An asexual person might still experience romantic attraction, I think. You don’t really like anyone. I can’t remember a single crush of yours, and I’ve known you for ten years.” Liam makes a noise of agreement. “So, I think it’s probably more likely you just haven’t found anyone you click with, yet.” he shrugs. After a short pause, he adds quickly with a strangled tone of amusement: “Also, I think we all remember that time Liam walked in on you in the “shower” at camp so –mmpfh,” Louis’ sentence is muffled when a flustered Harry smothers his face with slender arms and hands. Liam doubles over in an embarrassed fit of laughter.

…

The flustered Harry proceeds to change the topic, and as the night slowly moves forward in comfortable chatter among best friends, Louis dozes off, his sleeping form gradually turning to curl into Harry's side. For a long few minutes it is silent, barring Louis' deep breathing. Liam slowly sips on his last beer, and Harry, who has in the meantime sunk lower in the pillows, is absent-mindedly stroking Louis' hair. 

There’s more to say, of course. He’s trying not to dwell unnecessarily, because he knows that Louis and Liam were just keeping things lighthearted for his benefit, and that they are probably a lot more informed about asexuality and aromanticism and all the other labels that might be out there, just waiting to drown Harry in an existential crisis. He’s grateful to Louis, for not bringing it all up at once. For joking instead, and giving Harry an easy out - a chance to breathe, and to pick out what it is that he actually wants to talk about. 

When he speaks, it is hesitant and almost a whisper, but his voice is clear.

“Why do you think I’ve never come across anyone I’ve clicked with?”

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places?” Liam suggests.

“But I’m not even looking!” Louis stirs at the frustration in Harry's voice, and Harry gently shushes him – a knee jerk reaction, at this point.

“Well, if you’re not looking, then maybe you don’t want to be with anyone right now. And really, you end up with the people who are looking for someone like you.” Liam shrugs. “And maybe those people aren’t your type.”

“I don’t… Okay, Liam, I don’t know what that means. I don’t even believe in the whole ‘type’ thing, I mean, to an extent, like, Louis goes home with a particular type, yes; but he never likes, either. Who’s to say that the person he clicks with emotionally will be anything like his type? He just doesn’t need that to sleep with someone, and I do.” He shrugs.

“Oh, no, I agree completely,” Liam nods whole-heartedly. “But knowing where your attraction steers you is always good… Like, would you feel differently if I said ‘preference’ instead of ‘type’?” Liam asks cautiously, but not uncertainly.

“What, like… Orientation?” Harry seems to consider this for a moment, and Liam rushes to clarify.

“I’m not saying you should go on a soul-searching quest or have a sexual crisis, or anything, and I’m not saying you don’t like women, I’m not saying that at all, but if this, your romantic interest, or lack thereof, is something that worries you, which obviously it does, then maybe it would help to think about what you want.”

Harry takes that in for a few minutes, the tips of his fingers absently tracing patterns on Louis' scalp. Liam observes him restlessly, hoping that it wasn’t too much, or too patronizing, and that he didn’t offend him, or insinuate, because he really wasn’t trying to. The silence drags on, however, and it’s not tense, only thoughtful, and after a while Liam's eyes feel heavy, and hearing a vaguely mumbled “Night, Li,” he drifts.


	2. Part 2: Very Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (more lies, I’m afraid. all lies.)
> 
> This chapter continues directly off of Part 1: Prologue.

Harry is vaguely stirred out of sleep by a shuffling, and a sudden cold.

More shuffling. What is this shuffling?

The shuffling is warm, oh, and it smells nice.

What? Wait, shuffle back, Thing of Warmth! Oh…

To Harry’s sleepy discontent, the warmth of the shuffling is replaced by a less soft, less warm, less heavy thing - a piece of fabric, Harry recognizes - that suddenly envelopes him; and he stirs, and reaches out vaguely, colliding with warm skin and soft cotton, and a gentle, shushing, “Sleep, Hazza.” And Harry does sleep, but doesn’t take back sleepy hands, and so the shuffler relents, and stills near him. It is too far away still and only vaguely there, but it is enough for Harry’s cloudy conscious, and he drifts back.

…

His next awakening is of the type that reminds you how much you drank last night, when profanities yelled in Liam’s hoarse morning voice fill the room.

Harry groans, rubbing his eyes sleepily, as familiar soft footsteps and a sigh enter the room from the hallway. Harry’s sleep-veiled mind vaguely registers typical Liam and Louis banter from the kitchen, a series of piercing metallic sounds of breaking pills’ foil seals, Liam’s grateful groan, and Louis’s chuckled profanities muffled heavily into fabric.

Harry rubs at his face, letting out small sleepy grunts of displeasure, as Liam returns to plop heavily and warmly on the bed next to him, and Louis continues quiet commotion in the kitchen.

Some minutes and several hungover groans later, Louis pads over, and then there are two pills in Harry’s sleep-weakened fingers, a tall glass of water in his hand, and small fingers brushing hair away from his face. Liam must receive similar treatment, if his grateful hums are any indication; and as Harry draws long gulps, the smell of tea fills his nostrils.

…

Half an hour and four collective cups of tea later, Liam is fine, while not cheery, dressed in day clothes and finishing the final stages of party clean-up, and at least someone can function with a hangover, Harry thinks; because he is still burying his face into Louis’s soft, hoodie-clad shoulder and rubbing at his temple. He is curled up on the sofa bed, on the small boy’s lap, not really sure how he got there and still mostly unaware of real life.

Louis sighs, but fondly, cradling Harry’s tall, narrow frame in his arms, and rubs his back sympathetically. When Harry turns his face and buries it in the crook of his neck, Louis feels his back wanting to arch, and stiffens slightly at the goosebumps; but this is okay, this is normal, it is always like this when Harry is waking up from a hangover, so Louis rubs his back again and hums vaguely in sympathy. Sympathy, even though Louis doesn’t get hangovers, not ever, and so doesn’t understand, but does care, when Harry grunts a long groan. He reaches a bit to the low coffee table by the sofa bed, and Harry’s hand accepts the glass of water, and then Louis is faced with a pale, flexing neck as Harry arches to drink; and so gulps once in unison, and looks away.

“Alright,” He breathes patiently, because really, this is surely enough cuddling for one day. “Let’s get you up.”

Harry whines in protest, but allows himself to be led to the bathroom, and closes his fingers around a prepared toothbrush, and brushes his teeth; vaguely aware that Louis rummages around for a towel, tosses it on the ducky changing board, and leaves, re-appearing moments later with an armful of fabric. He turns on the shower, and spends a long minute adjusting the water, as Harry rinses his mouth mechanically, rinses the toothbrush which then disappears from his hand, and lets himself be steered to the shower tub by small hands.

The door clicks somewhere behind him as Harry undresses, noticing that his shirt is Louis’, and in fact it is the soft white shirt with a few buttons to the neckline, and it is the one that Louis looks soft in; and his bottoms are Liam’s, of course they are, because Louis is small and Liam is not and Harry always gets Liam’s, just to tease Louis. Harry vaguely notices that he can smell Louis’s scent on himself, on his clothes and his hands, and wonders why Louis and Liam’s apartment smells more of Louis. It makes him frown self-consciously, so he halts with one awkward foot already in the shower, only to step back out, and reach for the Snoopy bottoms with a frown, and sniff them with a frown, and then giggle slightly at himself before purposely forcing the frown back, because it is fun.

The bottoms don’t smell like anything.

Well, that’s not true, they smell like Liam and Louis’ fabric softener, which is lavender because Liam does laundry and Liam likes it. And they smell slightly of grease and salt, courtesy of his own fingers when they finished those fries and he was too comfortable to get up and get a napkin.

They just decidedly don’t smell like Liam. Which makes sense, because they were probably clean last night, and so wouldn’t smell like Liam anyway. And it would make sense if they smelled vaguely of Louis, because Louis fell asleep curled into him and Liam didn’t. Louis can probably smell Harry on his clothes too. It’s not weird.

Well, Louis can’t, because Louis changed, Harry realizes. He was definitely wearing Harry’s shirt last night, and Harry distinctly remembers nuzzling into a hoodie not ten minutes ago.

But still, it is decidedly not weird, and as he nudges his head under a hot stream, Harry wonders briefly how come he hasn’t internalized Louis’s scent to the point of no longer being able to smell it. Because his scent is around as much as Harry’s own, surely, and no-one knows their own scent. 

As he lets hot water relax the hangover from his head, Harry thinks back to last night, and what Liam said. Because he’s right, he decided as he dozed off yesterday; he should start looking if he expects to find.

And he will, he decides now, through his shower and his thoughtful walk home that stretches for an hour because he swerves around the neighbourhood. He will start looking. Perhaps not for someone to date, but just to identify the feeling that everyone rattles on about – the spark, the butterflies, whatever – because Harry knows he isn’t the self-reflective type, and tends to shrug off his feelings and never pay attention.  
…

And paying attention is what he does, for the next few days, as he goes to classes, and Music club, and work. He takes note of everything; all the feelings, all the indications in his chest and stomach and cheeks and hands.

And he does note a lot. He notes that his lively Music coordinator makes him nervous and fidgety, even though he’s no longer nervous to participate. He notes that his laugh is extra crazy when that bizarre, hysterical boy is under spotlight. He notes that his gaze only lingers on the eyes of blue-eyed girls, and they catch his attention, but he doesn’t feel like there are flying insects in his belly at all.

He gruffly acknowledges the hassled feeling when Kendall texts him to hang out, and when he calls her, he notes that he feels awkward and regretful to end things, but more relieved than disappointed.

He notes the length of time he spaces out for, when a framed picture of a grinning, goofy Louis, Liam and himself by a campsite catches his eye, and the fond smile he can’t hold back when he thinks back to the adventure.

It was last year when they had gotten nostalgic for camp and so, clearly, packed an impromptu overnight bag and set out on a hike. He had had his wisdom teeth out not three days prior and though his strong painkiller had made him mildly hazy, it was nothing in comparison to the drunken state his two best friends found themselves in, late at night on the clearing. Needing to stay sober next to those two drunken fools was not nearly as annoying as it sounds, Harry notes when he thinks back to the goofy puns and loud cackles, and the innocence of worried blues when Harry tried to chew a gummy bear.

And then Harry gets worried, because he also remembers soft giggles, and small hands, and noses nuzzling into cheeks, and small yawns and soft fingers rubbing at sleepy eyes, and peaceful hot breaths on his neck when a very cuddly, drunk Louis snuggled into him and slept happily, all drowning out the background of Liam’s distant snores. And while there don’t seem to be butterflies in his stomach, there is undeniably a fluttering rush in his chest, and Harry swears his fingers are trembling slightly, and this feels more like fear than a spark, he thinks in alarm. He kind of wants to run away from the goofy wink in the picture.

He doesn’t run away, but he does grab his jogging shoes and stick his earphones in, losing himself in consuming music as he relentlessly jogs the twilight of Holmes Chapel, in an effort not to overwhelm himself.

He won’t think of it again, he decides without considering. He’ll pay attention, and keep noting, but he refuses to think himself into a panic attack.

…

He doesn’t mean to avoid Louis, but after a week of flimsy excuses and mumbled apologies, a cryptic text from Liam jogs a nervous guilt.

Haz, are we okay?

Haz doesn’t know what it means. Haz replies, after a long while.

Yes…?

The reply comes within minutes.

Well, I mean, no, obviously you seemed okay in the morning, but then Louis was there, and now I feel like you’re avoiding… So, you know, I’m just checking if all is well.

The last sentence sounds like a question.

What does he mean by ‘Louis was there?’

Harry remembers the conversation. He almost feels like he wants to ask in panic, ‘does he know?!’, but there isn’t anything to know, is there, and Harry’s stream of consciousness is interrupted by a boing.

Oh, well, umm, if you want to chill just with Louis, you can, I mean, it’s not weird, I’m going for beers with my sister tomorrow night, so, if you had anything in mind, I umm, can’t, either way. Just, you know. I didn’t mean anything. I’d rather you talked to me about it, but if you don’t want to, I mean there’s no reason to confuse Louis, he kind of mentioned your absence, so. Umm. Sorry? Sorry.

Normally, Harry would giggle fondly at the adorable hesitance that Liam shows so infrequently, but now he is just confused. His eyes linger over ‘if you want to chill with just Louis’ and he frowns slightly, because yeah, that does sound good, but he has no idea why Liam is suggesting it; he can’t just telepathically know about his chest flutter, can he? No one can be that intuitive, even Liam, for crying out loud.

And why is he apologizing; for fuck’s sake, that boy, with all his beating around the bush. He reviews their messages.

Does he think I’m mad at him? Harry frowns, because why in the world would he be, but ultimately decides that makes the most sense, and quickly replies back.

I do want to chill, with both of you, maybe I’ll stay over tomorrow and we can watch something when you come back? I’m not off, I’ve just been thinking, like you said, so got caught up in that. We’re good Li, no repentance required. Xo

The reply comes while he is texting Louis to meet up.

Oh, phew! I was worried there for a sec. But, are you okay? Any revelations? I’m here if you want to chat. You know I basically morph into an ear at first sight of goss.

Harry chuckles, quickly contemplating the benefits of saying something via text.

Well, it would seem that I like blue eyes…

The response takes longer than necessary, Harry thinks.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ended it with the ellipsis…

Oh, the message reads, when it does come.

‘Oh.’

Really?

What kind of blue?

What do you mean, Liam? Blue.

Omg, Harry. There are so many sappy adjectives for blue eyes. Rule of swooning #12. Just list some will you?

Okay umm.. very blue

Harry, you dazzling wordsmith.

Shut up asshole! Clear.

Clear blue. That sounds pretty :) also talk to me when you get creative, loser. xo

Harry rolls his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thoughts, feelings, other miscellaneous things? I’m ill and bored I’d love to hear them!


	3. Part 3: Crystal Blue

Liam wakes the next morning, with residual excitement from last night still lingering in his gut. Those texts with Harry had been tense with small, cautious implications, and Liam wanted so much not to jump to conclusions, because it really isn’t much, and he might just be fangirling over nothing. It’s really very possible, with his track record.

Even then, he wasn’t expecting to have texts from Harry already piled up, at 8:07 in the morning. Liam raises his eyebrows in surprise as he scrolls through them.

_ 00:15 _

_ Happy blue? _

_ 00:33 _

_ Well happy isn’t a shade, maybe I mean sparkling. _

_ 00:43 _

_ Although not like with glitter. Obvi? idk. _

_ 00:50 _

_ Glistening? That just makes me think of crying though. _

_ 01:06 _

_ And not a dark blue. _

_ 01:11 _

_ Maybe light blue. I haven’t decided. _

_ 01:26 _

_ But not grey. _

_ 01:35 _

_ Grey isn’t even blue. How dare grey. _

_ 01:47 _

_ Maybe I shouldn’t be texting you at nearing two in the morning. That has got to be sounding alarm bells. I swear I’m not obsessing. I just can’t sleep. _

_ 01:59 _

_ There is construction down the street. _

_ 02:03 _

_ No there isn’t. Sorry. _

_ 02:43 _

_ Maybe I meant happy as in with like laughing lines around it? Maybe I have a thing for wrinkles. Plot twist; my type is actually old, happy drunks. _

Liam laughs to himself worriedly. Harry had a lesson this morning, didn’t he? He sighs, wondering if those sly suspicions he  _ isn’t at all  _ harbouring have anything to them.

He glances at a photo-booth photo strip of the three of them one Halloween some years ago. He doesn’t have to look long. He types out a message.

_ Twinkling blue? _

He closes his phone, because Harry is in his lesson, and braces for his day.

…

Harry doesn’t fuss with his face that night, before Louis’. He doesn’t do anything to his hair. He doesn’t try on every single thing in his closet, or wear nice underwear. Instead he settles for his second favourite pair of jeans (because of course his favourites, along with his shirt, are lying around Louis and Liam’s somewhere), and a soft yellow long-sleever. His hair remains softly curly; he doesn’t even know which sneakers he’s put on. But when the time does come to leave his house, Harry feels fidgety.

He checks the time on his phone. It’s 6:53. There is a message from Louis, from ten minutes ago.

_ Hey, are you coming tonight? _

He chews on his lip, typing a stalling message, and then retyping it when his shaky fingers betray him.  _ Yeah. We’re out of ice-cream, right? _

He doesn’t feel like having ice-cream.

The message comes quickly.

_ No, I bought some. _

Of course Louis bought some.

As he walks over, he questions why his knees feel like when you forget to eat breakfast. He sees Louis literally all the time. This, whatever ‘this’ is, can’t have developed overnight.

And considering it definitely wasn’t around before, that would mean that it hasn’t developed at all, which is a conclusion Harry is willing to embrace.

He isn’t nervous to see Louis. They are too close for that.

But then he gets to their street, and panics, swerving into an adjacent alley and circling the block another time.

Maybe, Harry allows as he rubs clammy hands against his jeans, maybe he’s a little nervous to test whether his chest flutter fandango is a one-time occurrence, or somehow meaningful.

Because that really wouldn’t be convenient, would it?

…

When Louis opens the door, grins, and gestures him in, there is no crashing realization. It is almost anti-climactic; it just feels normal, it feels like every time.

Harry breathes a tentative, metaphorical sigh of relief, then. He declines Louis’ offer to make drinks, because why would he need one? There are no nerves here.

When Louis joins him on the couch, and the two chat over snacks, Harry regrets his sobriety, because apparently, taking note of his thought process comes naturally now, and despite the deceiving lack of crashing realizations, he is noticing all these new, annoying details.

Like the fact that he watches Louis’ gestures a lot. His eyes linger on them more than should be necessary, considering he knows every wave and shrug of Louis’ hands. Louis doesn’t seem to notice. Or at least, doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about it.

Louis’ arms look good with wristbands.

Maybe Harry always does this.

His eyes constantly chase Louis’ lips when he speaks, and Harry blushes when he catches himself, even though the action feels natural. He tries to keep his eyes on Louis’ then, but the restless blues don’t seem to cooperate. He realizes indeed that Louis never looks at him while he talks; he looks to the side, or at the object of discussion, or just around, and Harry’s never really paid thought to that before, but now it irks him. Because Louis is eating now, and there is no excuse to be looking at his hands, or the way his lips close around the spoon, or the way his jaw flexes when he chews. His eyes are really the only appropriate option, here.

So Harry makes it a sort of quest, to catch Louis’ eyes. But even when he speaks - well, rambles, probably - the blue eyes remain restless. Green ones chase and lure and sneak, but the blue eyes are slippery, and sly and fickle, and refuse to be stilled.

Is Louis someone who avoids eye contact? No, that’s Harry, isn’t that Harry?

Maybe it’s Louis too. Harry wouldn’t know, apparently.

…

It isn’t until later in the night, that Harry momentarily forgets about what has turned into a sort of one-sided, wildly unsuccessful game. The conversation has inevitably turned more serious, because Liam is out with his sister for only the second time in, well, a lot of months; he hadn’t really received the most enthusiastic of reactions when he came out to his family last year, and his home situation has been fluctuating between merely non-existent to actively shitty. He has spent countless nights on Harry’s couch, and even more in Louis’ bed; the amount of times Harry came to pick Louis up for school, only to be faced with the sight of his two best friends, curled up together, quietly struggling and quietly comforting… His heart breaks a little at the memory. He doesn’t say that, at first, but Louis talks about similar thoughts and feelings, and it slips out, and turns into a long, quietly sincere stream of consciousness, jumbled just the way Harry jumbles. He spends much of it looking absently at his hands, which fiddle with a thread of his sleeve; but when Louis says something sad, and Harry does look up, he is startled by a flash of blue, and stutters, stumbles over his answer, blinking away with spooked eyes; but Louis doesn’t look away, and his eyes are there to meet, when Harry finds his string of thought.

And after he does, the conversation continues quietly, and Harry mostly doesn’t look while he talks either, he finds, so maybe that’s a thing they do; but he begins glancing more frequently, and the same blue, the damned blue, always looks back.

And fine, maybe Harry feels a little light in the chest.

They contemplate texting Li to check on him, but his family is somewhat of an unspoken topic, and so they each send him an unrelated text of comfort.

Harry smiles when he opens their back and forth; his is a quick text, so he sits in silence, wondering what Louis is typing as he watches swift thumbs fly over the keyboard. 

A small chuckle escapes Louis’ chest, and Harry’s eyes trail up to smiling cheeks, but get inevitably distracted on their way, by a pink tip of a tongue, poking out from between tight lips in a tic of concentration; and Harry knows it’s adorable, but it’s also something else, something that makes him shift uncomfortably and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, when Louis relaxes his face and tosses the phone away.

…

Liam reaches for his phone as he contemplates whether his wellbeing and laziness is worth cab fare. There are two texts; he opens the top one – Louis’ – first.

_ Liam, my lovely knight in shining jeans, run, run like the fucking wind, Harry has misplaced his appetite and I’m drowning in ice-cream. It tastes like puke flavoured baby food! (Oops I mean – it’s delicious, you’ll love it!) _

_ Seriously though, don’t run. Hail that cab. It’s Holmes Chapel. Survival of the fattest. _

He laughs and hails an oncoming cab, scrolling to Harry’s text.

_ Twinkling, that’s it! Perfect :) _

_ But also, crystal. _

_ Oh,  _ Liam thinks to himself. Crystal is, indeed, fitting. He doesn’t take note of the fact that it seems to have come to him while a certain blue-eyed nugget was there; he doesn’t take note at all. When he rattles off his address to the tired cabby, it is with a new sense of adventure.

He smiles when he notices the times of the texts. Two minutes apart; they must have sent them together.

_ You two are the fucking best <3 went ok, coming home now, worry not I am a-cabbin’ to thy rescue _

Ten minutes later, a spontaneous group hug happens on their doorstep, and it is full of elbows and hair and for the first time in a long while, Liam feels like he’s coming home.

…

The boys are completely sober, Liam is mildly surprised to find; but even so, Louis patches together a few shots for Liam to down. They don’t ask, but Liam feels okay, and tells them a brief recount of his night and some family news. He tries to observe the boys while he talks, but they seem the same, maybe, or do they? Harry seems to be looking more, not unexpectedly, and maybe Louis can tell because he meets his eye from time to time, but they seem otherwise undistracted. Things are normal.

As the night goes on and the conversation gets hazier, however, Harry seems to spend long chunks of time spacing out into Louis, Louis’ hands, Louis’ speaking mouth; and maybe Liam is a little glad that it’s dark, because god knows Louis doesn’t need that.

“Hey, Harry, let’s help me stretch the sofa bed, before we all collapse where we may,” he tries, in an effort to keep sleepy Harry awake for some conversation. But of course Louis helps instead, because Harry is sleepy, and his hands are awkward enough at full capacity, and Louis is Louis, and that’s what Louis does.

Oh well – he’ll steal him away for questioning tomorrow.

They all fall asleep on the sofa bed together this time, in a mess of limbs and curls and shared clothing, and Liam doesn’t feel lonely when Harry unconsciously snuggles into Louis, because a small, warm hand is reaching over to hold his, and so what if he cries just a little? It’s allowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you liked it, thank all for reading and kudos and comment, they are bearers of the nice, and all the things!


	4. Part 4: Freckled Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HELLO
> 
> Larry high school AU (that BARELY has anything to do with high school, spoiler alert) SFW

Louis wakes first; some things never change, do they? He sighs. Harry’s messy head lifts atop the sigh, and his hands are wrapped warmly somewhere in Louis’ shirt, and his scent is everywhere; everything is so  _ Harry  _ that a single hand, wrapped around one that is decidedly not Harry’s, feels detached. He lets go of Liam carefully, detangles from Harry almost frantically, and scrambles away. He hops into the shower, not bothering to wait for hot water, and rubs at his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He shakes his head at himself, because why? Why, Louis?

He steps out and dries off, slipping on undies, jeans, and a hoodie. He rushes to scribble a note, grabs his sneakers, and practically speedwalks outside, swaying in a wave of dizziness when cold Holmes Chapel air fills his head.

He’ll get his tea at Starbucks.

…

When a sleepy Harry pads after the scent of tea into the small, cosy kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and covering yawns, he is almost surprised to find Liam pouring from the kettle.

“Morning, Hazza,” he murmurs. Harry’s hand closes around a hot mug.

“Thanks, Li,” he smiles sleepily. “Where’s Lou-” a piece of paper collides with his other hand, and he accepts it, and it says assessment criteria on it, and what? Harry frowns.

With a chuckle, the paper is snatched, and shuffled, and back, and now it is a note scribbled in familiar scratchy handwriting.

_ Morning, fuckers _

_ I’m off for a walk. Gotta take advantage of a surprising lack of hangovers to remedy; you slackin. _

_ Liam, if you’re up first, tea in green cubby, you know this, you live here. Good luck. _

_ Harry, if you’re up first… Go back to sleep and wait for Li, you confused creature _

_ Louis x _

Harry chuckles slightly, sipping from his mug, and folds the paper into the pocket of his hoodie.

“So,” Liam starts resolutely, sitting down opposite Harry. “What’s up, Haz.”

Harry frowns, because his casual question doesn’t match his tone.

“Right. Good question?” he replies slightly defiantly

“Harry.”

“Liam.”

“Things don’t seem crystal clear to me, Harry.”

“Well I’m sorry if it gives you the blues.”

“I understand things are hard, but don’t lash out.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Liam! If you want to say something, say it.”

“Harry.” Liam sighs in frustration. “Okay, here’s the gist. You’ve either inexplicably become really,  _ really  _ particular about your type, or you’re thinking of something more specific. So, I’m going to ask you again. Would you care to re-classify these eyes?”

Harry looks away, blushing slightly, and hesitates for a few moments. He opens his mouth to speak, and when he doesn’t, Liam waits, and gives him time.

“They’re-” Harry starts after a moment, and halts, only to continue after a few moments of shy contemplation. “Maybe they’re pretty bright, like, I know we said twinkling, but I think bright might be different…” Liam doesn’t sigh, or speak, or react in any way. Instead he waits, for Harry to sip at his tea for a bit, and think for a bit, until his green eyes look up to his.

“And…” he looks down into his mug, and he is positively blushing, Liam thinks, and maybe we’re getting somewhere now.

“Harry?” he asks softly. The tips of his fingers are absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his mug.

“And maybe like… Louis’?” he says it very quietly, and his lips curl up briefly at the last word, but he is hesitant and worried and timid.

Liam doesn’t respond for a long moment. Until a shy tear shimmers in a green eye, and he reaches over, making to take his hand but changing his mind in the last moment; instead placing his hand palm-up on the table, with a gentle “oh” when Harry puts his hand in his.

He doesn’t cry, or panic, or dramatize, or say anything really, not for a while, but silent confusion clouds his eyes. When Liam plops them on the couch with last night’s tub of ice-cream, he pokes at it with his spoon and talks, quietly, but not unwillingly.

“I don’t, I mean, I don’t know if it means anything, you know? I just kind of set out to figure out what in the hell ‘butterflies’ are, and I don’t think I did, but I felt kind of weird and fluttery, when I thought of him. I mean, not him – when I thought of that time we camped last year, remember?” Liam nods; of course he remembers soft giggles and slurred, sincere whispers. “So now I feel kind of weird, and I’m not, like, it’s not any different, but it feels different, you know? And I’ve probably made the whole thing happen in my head because I’m trying too hard, or something, like, I doubt it’s anything, I never really… I mean, no, okay, ‘I’ve never liked boys’ isn’t really an appropriate excuse, is it, because I’ve never really liked girls, and besides, no-one likes the same gender until they do.” He looks at Liam now, Liam who has a bit more experience with the area.

He shrugs slightly. “Haz, I mean, you’ve got two gay best friends, you’re pretty much as open minded as anyone. If you do turn out to, you know, like boys, I think you’ll probably… I mean I’m not saying it’ll be easy for you, because that’s totally hypocritical, but I don’t think it’s cause for crisis…”

“No, I agree, and – but like, it’s  _ Louis,  _ you know? What even is that? Who just suddenly develops heart palpitations at the thought of their best friend of ten years?” He looks at Liam in confusion.

“Well, it might not be a Louis thing, it might just be a boy thing, but like you said, it’s been ten years. We were ten. Had you had them since day one you wouldn’t have known. A kid doesn’t question things like that at ten. I mean, even Louis didn’t know he was gay yet. You know what I mean? And the fact is, we’re all so used to each other. It’s hard to distinguish sometimes. I mean,” Liam clears his throat, “it must be.”

They sit in a contemplative silence for a bit.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees with a decided frown, “I’ve always been extra fond of Louis, I know that, but who says that’s not just a healthy friendship? He’s a really comfortable person. He was easy to warm up to, and not pushy, and I guess I got comfortable with him really quickly, you know? He was always kind of an exception to my social anxiety. But then, so are you. Not as quickly and not as smoothly, maybe, but just as much.”

Liam smiles a fond smile at that, and squeezes his shoulder in silent acknowledgement. “Maybe so. But, you know, I’m not the one you accidentally cuddle up to when you sleep…” he points out carefully.

Harry blushes extra furiously at that. “Umm. Yeah. I don’t really know why I do that… I don’t sleep well, I guess, maybe it’s a security thing. I’ve thought about that before, actually.”

Liam nods. “Yeah, possibly so, but the thing is, you aren’t closer to Louis. At least I don’t feel like you are.” Harry shakes his head, because no, he is indeed equally close to Liam. “And it’s still always you two. And really, we’ve all slept in beds together and I’ve seen both of you naked and I’m pretty sure you’ve seen me too, just saying,” he adds, and they’re both giggling, “and you wear my clothes – and you don’t get anxious, like, you’re fine hugging me and everything. It wouldn’t be weird if you and I cuddled. It really wouldn’t.” Harry nods, but seems to consider. “But we don’t feel the need to do it all the time.” Harry agrees fully then, and looks him in the eye for a few moments. “I think you two just have a different kind of… cuddliness, with each other.”

Harry frowns for a moment. “But… He is the same, isn’t he? I mean, he gets touchy feely too, with me, at least when he drinks he does, right? It’s not just me… right?” he asks with a worried look.

“Um, yeah, he’s probably used to the dynamic, you know?” Liam shrugs, reaching for the softening ice-cream.

Harry nods vaguely, and hums, and focuses on a spoonful of ice-cream for a while.

“Hey, Liam?” Liam hums in response. “So… what now? I mean… where do I go from here, what should I do?”

“Nothing,” he states with confidence. “If you  _ want _ to do things, then by all means, but there isn’t anything that you  _ should  _ do. Even if you don’t do anything, time will.” He winks at him reassuringly. “And, you know, I’m here; text me, talk to me, that seemed to help?”

Harry nods, and thanks, because he really has been wise.

When he walks home that evening, though, he shortcuts, arriving in record time of 14 minutes, and despite the gloomy weather, grabs his sneakers for another mindless run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More Louis in the next one ;)  
> Thank all for the kudos and bookmarks, and ALL the things; also, THANK to the lovely that sent a comment - your thoughts and feelings are great to hear!  
> Next part out soon, I think - this was a shorter one.


	5. Part 5: Rain Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: YES, HI!  
> Larry High School AU, SFW  
> Enjoy!

It has to be a boy thing. He’s probably just into boys. I mean, Liam is right about the cuddly and the fond, but Louis is his best friend, and that’s just… normal, it’s how they are. He’d have noticed sooner, if…

Yeah, it can’t be a Louis thing.

Right?

Harry slows to a walk and runs a hand through messy hair. He checks the time automatically, because it’s Friday, but then remembers that he isn’t seeing Liam and Louis tonight. Louis has some sort of department school get-together, or something, so Liam is taking the opportunity to go out on the prowl with some of his guy friends.

Harry looks around. The comfortably grey city park seems to be more or less vacant, and it’s not dark yet, so he strides over to a forlorn metal swing and sways on it casually for a few minutes.

The last couple of weeks since his heart to heart with Liam have gone without incident. He’s had a few extra late shifts at work, meaning a few skipped late-nights at their place, and Louis went home last weekend to celebrate his sister’s birthday, but they’ve had a few good times nevertheless. He’s been texting with Liam, as per the earlier consensus, and he’s been the helpful little shit that he is. Things with him and Louis have decidedly been no different, but they continue to feel different, and Harry is kind of sick of it. It’s making him miss Louis, because now he feels self-conscious about their proximity, and keeps a distance that he’s not even sure either of them want, and feels awkward all the time; and it’s really upsetting, because he  _ wants _ to be oblivious and hug Louis all the time and nuzzle his face when he gets drunk.

He scrolls through his back-and-forth with Liam, starting with the day after their heart to heart.

_ You: Monday, 09:24 AM _

_ So, if this was a thing, do you think it’s because Louis is a boy, and I subconsciously like boys, or because Louis is Louis? _

_ Liam: Monday, 09:36 AM _

_ Hm, I don’t know, like we said, it could be either, and it’s really not for me to guess at. Although, blue eyes are not a boy thing. _

_ I’m just throwing that out there. _

_ Up to you, though. _

_ You: Monday, 10:02 AM _

_ Do I seem like I like him? _

_ Liam: Monday, 10:04 AM _

_ Well, I mean, I spend so much time with you, I swear to god, you could have a tail and I wouldn’t even notice anymore. But, and I’ve noticed this; you know how Louis is the raging homo, and you are the straight boy, and still all our acquaintances always think that you are the one with a crush? I’m not saying people are right, but you asked what it seems like, so _

_ You: Wednesday, 03:53 PM _

_ Liam… HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU LIKE BOYS _

_ Liam: Wednesday, 04:17 PM _

_ Oh, don’t make me watch magic mike with you, I know we are close, but some lines should remain uncrossed _

_ You: Wednesday, 04:19 PM _

_ You walked in on me jacking off in the shower, you asshole _

_ Liam: Wednesday, 04:20 PM _

_ OH GOD, WHY, okay, hang on, let me think about this _

_ (But also, yuk, you know I’m not sure why I’m more embarrassed about this than you are, also, it was a camp shower, that’s absolutely disgusting and vile, Harry, frankly I’m surprised how you remain UTI-free) _

_ You: Wednesday, 04:24 PM _

_ Shut up you hypocrite you sit on public toilets _

_ You: Wednesday 04:25 PM _

_ Why do you know what a UTI is? DOES Louis HAVE ONE _

_ Liam: Thursday, 01:13 PM _

_ I know I like guys because I’ve had crushes, I guess? I’m attracted to men? I never felt like that for any girls, I guess I thought I did, because heteronormativity and all that crap, but I didn’t really _

_ And if you want to know about Louis’s southern hemisphere, you are going to have to ask him, I’m not authorized to share this sort of information. Homos roommate confidentiality agreement and all _

_ You: Friday, 05:32 PM _

_ But what even is that? How do you know you are attracted to guys? Like the heteronormativity thing, and quasi homos think they’re attracted to the opposite sex, so it’s obviously not that clear cut, so how do you know??? _

_ Liam: Saturday, 08:03 AM _

_ Oh, okay, well I would assume that it’s a lot easier to tell who you’re attracted to when your dick is fucking Judas _

_ Although I guess you can know you’re attracted to someone without being turned on, can’t you? Good question. I’m not sure, sorry. I’ll have a think? _

_ Liam: Tuesday, 05:34 PM _

_ I’ve had a think and I’m fucking questioning human existence now, thanks. Maybe, um, this might be a good time to approach Louis? He is so much wiser than me. And has figured it out . _

_ Liam: Tuesday, 06:02 PM _

_ Also, I have never been more thankful for unwanted erections   _

Harry chuckles again. The last message was on Tuesday, and barring a few quick texts to his mom and a couple to his music partner Niall, it was the last one. An empty text to Louis sits somewhere in his drafts folder, yet to be composed.

Harry doesn’t bother finding it, and instead goes to open his and Louis’ back-and-forth, when a loud boing in his hands startles him.

_ Louis: Friday, 08:23 PM _

_ Oh my FUCKING god. Distract me, will you? Everyone and their mother is listing all of their gay acquaintances at me. _

Harry cringes, envisioning an annoyed Louis hiding his phone under the bar.

_ You: Friday, 08:26 PM _

_ You should tell them about hipsters. _

_ NO, you should be like oh, FYI, my girlfriend is picking me up in fifteen minutes, and then take advantage of their shock and run away! _

_ Louis: Friday, 08:27 PM _

_ Ahahah, hey! Piss off, I could totally snag a girlfriend _

_ You: Friday, 08:28 PM _

_ Oh my god D:  That mental image is BIZARRE. You so gay _

Louis sends a series of smug emojis, and as he types out  _ Hey, btw, since when have you known you were gay?, _ Harry worries if his seriousness is too sudden, but he hits send before he can chicken out. The reply takes only slightly longer than usual.

_ Louis: Friday, 08:31 PM _

_ Umm, 300 B.C. _

Harry laughs, unsure if Louis is avoiding on purpose, when another text boings.

_ Louis: Friday, 08:33 PM _

_ Honestly, probably not as long as you think, I was on the fence for a while even when I went as gay. _

Harry frowns, because this is new information.

_ You: Friday, 08:34 PM _

_ Really? How come you came out, then? _

_ Louis: Friday, 08:36 PM _

_ Ahaha, well I knew I liked boys, I guess that was reason enough, at the time? _

_ You: Friday, 08:37 PM _

_ How did you know?  _ Harry feels like he should know this story.

…

Louis frowns. Doesn’t Harry already know this? He shifts in the barstool and nods the tender for a refill.

_ You: Friday, 08:39 PM _

_ Harry, don’t you know this? We were already friends for a couple of years _

_ Harry: Friday, 8:41 PM _

_ Well, yeah, but the way you came out was super spontaneous and anti-climactic Louis, it is not my fault _

Louis chuckles fondly; he can almost see Harry’s defensive frown.

_ Harry: Friday, 8:41 PM _

_ Tell me? _

_ You: Friday, 08:42 PM _

_ What do you remember? I’ll fill in the blanks. _

_ Harry: Friday, 8:45 PM _

_ Oh gosh, okay, I remember you came to school, and then immediately everyone started saying you kissed that boy who graduated from our middle school the year before? Nick something. _

Nick Grimshaw; Louis remembers those rumors. It’s odd how his best friend’s pov of his coming out process is so… from the sidelines, Louis thinks. Another text stirs him.

_ Harry: Friday, 8:48PM _

_ And then, lol! that summer at camp when that one really nasty youth leader heard you swear in the mess, and she told you that girls don’t like boys with ‘potty mouths’? And you were like oh phew  _ thank _ you, my boyfriend will be relieved! And I  _ lost  _ my  _ shit,  _ Louis. Her face! And Liam nearly fucking pissed himself. _

Louis laughs loudly, covering his face with his hand, momentarily forgetting to look normal in a public place. He doesn’t really care, though, and types out a text.

_ You: Friday, 08:49 PM _

_ LOL I remember that!! Oh, camp. _

_ Harry: Friday, 8:49 PM _

_ You became a legend *hail* _

_ You: Friday, 08:50 PM _

_ Is that how I came out to you? That’s bullshit! _

_ Harry: Friday, 8:50 PM _

_ No, it was! I swear, it was a bunch of things like that, you just slowly dropped hints. _

_ You: Friday, 08:51 PM _

_ Are you saying I never came out to you??? _

_ Harry: Friday, 8:51PM _

_ :O PLOT TWIST _

_ Harry: Friday, 8:52PM _

_ Ditch those assholes and come hang with me? My gaps remain unfilled _

Louis finishes a drink and tucks a few bills under his glass, and texts as he walks down to the subway station.

_ You: Friday, 08:53 PM _

_ Okay, but I’m taking you to mine. I can’t fill your holes just anywhere. _

…

Despite Louis’ “I’m taking you,” it was silently understood that Harry and an unfinished bottle of whiskey would be waiting on the front steps, when Louis arrives with steaming Pho cups half an hour later.

“Okay,” Louis breathes when they settle into position, Harry on the collapsed sofa bed and Louis opposite him on his beloved gay ass-bag, with an assortment of alcoholic beverages and each his own favourite Pho. “Point me to thy holes.”

Harry laughs, battling his Pho with a spoon, fork, and single chopstick, as per usual, enviously admiring Louis’s masterful chop skills.

Harry slurps, trying to think up a start. “Did you always know? That you liked boys, at least.”

“No, not at all,” Louis admits around a mouthful of noodles. “I always liked boys, I guess, but I didn’t always know. I guess it came into the forefront of my brainspace, maybe, fifth or sixth grade? Hang on,” he chews through mental math, “We all met somewhere in the fourth grade, right?” He pauses contemplatively. “Yeah, I think it was fifth or sixth grade.”

“What brought it on?” Harry mumbles quietly into his Pho, with a slight frown – one that most likely had to do with his awkward utensil setup.

“I kissed a boy,” Louis admits. Harry raises a surprised set of eyebrows, and shakes his head through a choked slurp. “Did you know this? Yeah, I kissed a boy and I realized I totally didn’t hate it, and obviously I was like twelve so there weren’t any teen feelings, or anything – but I didn’t hate it at all, and I guess I started thinking differently of my little… admirations? For people with lady parts.”

“Who was he?” Harry frowns.

Louis eyed him curiously. “Umm, his name is Ben, he lives on my street – or, well, my former street.” His lips curl up absent-mindedly.

Harry deadpans. “Your house?” Louis nods. “Where your mom lives? The green house.”

“Yeah, bro,” Louis raises his eyebrow at Harry. “Dark boy; with the really long hair?” He chews, eyeing Harry. “Bro, why?”

“No reason, and – but, like, he still lives there?”

“Uh huh,” Louis hums.

“Isn’t that awkward?” Harry frowns.

“Umm…” it’s Louis’ turn to frown, now. “Not really? We just kissed, it wasn’t anything, it was like a half dare. The girls talked us into it. Not that he wasn’t keen,” Louis smirks, but then shuts up because Harry doesn’t look entirely pleased. Louis wants to ask, but doesn’t, instead letting the quiet chewing continue for a few moments, until Harry shakes his curls slightly and speaks.

“So, you knew then?” he chews. “When you kissed that boy, you knew?”

“Umm…” Louis hesitates. “Well, I didn’t really think about it that much – and I know that sounds weird, but I really didn’t. But, I guess, that’s when I started to start knowing.” Louis frowns at how that thought came out, but knows that Harry understands, and so returns to his Pho.

…

Louis chews loudly, when he’s thinking, Harry notes. He also notes that it’s not at all gross and is in fact an endearing, if not adorable, sight. And the way he uses chopsticks is really fucking something, he thinks, because Louis picks and chooses, and wraps and twirls and piles specific combinations of ingredients, and it looks natural and absent-minded. he studies the way his lips curl slightly when he fishes out a stray carrot, and then Harry grins too because Louis seems to shuffle his butt slightly, and of course he would be singing JLS in his head.

“So,” Harry starts in an attempt not to think back to  _ Ben, _ “What happened then?” Louis looks at him in question. “How did you go from maybe starting to start knowing, to coming out epically at camp; and also, why weren’t Liam and I made aware?”

Louis laughs a wet, choked giggle. “Well, I kissed a couple more boys, and a couple of girls too, and spoiler alert, the results weren’t exactly surprising!” he laughs. “I guess the way I came out to myself was spontaneous too. Which is probably why you guys didn’t know anything more substantial,” Louis shrugs one snuggly shoulder. “I didn’t either.”

“Well, okay, that makes sense, but if  _ I _ had kissed a boy or four, you would have known,” Harry retorts, trying not to sound more hurt than he felt, but Louis only shrugs.

“I’m not that vocal about my love life, I guess. It’s still like that, isn’t it? I don’t hide or anything drastic like that, but I don’t really feel the urge to initiate conversations of that direction.” Harry nods, because yeah, that is Louis, and then watches – stares, if we’re being honest – as his friend lets the remnants of Pho broth spill down his throat.

“Hey, Louis?” he calls to the kitchen when Louis goes to throw out his Pho cup. A hum sounds through the shuffling of the garbage bag. “What do you think would have happened if you hadn’t kissed a boy back then?” Louis meets his eyes as he pads back, and then composes a thinking face as he curls back into his bean-bag.

“Hmm. Good question. I guess… I guess it would have been a little less smooth, and maybe, more of a shock, or longer process? But I don’t believe I would have stayed clueless. I never  _ felt  _ anything with girls, and you know me, I don’t really do things if I’m not completely sold.” He grins. “I would have started looking for alternatives pretty quickly, I’m guessing.” He winks, but it is reassuring rather than seductive. Louis is more attentive now with the lack of Pho, and Harry feels self-conscious under his gaze, so he doesn’t carry the conversation on, and instead tries to look at least somewhat competent as the noodles slip and slide between his utensils. Louis must be watching because he chuckles and groans, and then he is sliding lightly to squat on the sofa left of Harry.

“Bro, I think it might be time you learn how to do this properly. Here,” he reaches over for Harry’s discarded second chopstick with a chuckle as if saying  _ oh lord, the things you think of _ , “let me show you.” Harry gulps slightly, because really, since when is he so conscious of Louis’ body?

Slender arms reach around his shoulders, circling him into Louis’ space, and stretch to Harry’s own awkward fingers, which seem to be rapidly deteriorating in savviness. Two small hands fiddle there, until there are two chopsticks placed properly into his hand “like this, see, it’s easy.” And it absolutely is easy, duh, because Louis’ fingers are still keeping his together. But what isn’t easy, and Harry is quickly becoming aware of this as Louis keeps muttering in concentration, is paying attention to  _ anything _ when Louis’ face is that close to his face. Louis isn’t talking in his ear, not really, but it’s close enough that as he shifts to lean on Harry, his voice raises goosebumps on the back of Harry’s neck, and  _ whoa, _ this is new and unexpected, because he feels hard in a place where maybe he definitely  _ shouldn’t _ feel hard, particularly without  _ any _ suggestive prompting  _ whatsoever _ .

What in the hell..??

Harry freaks out for a second, but when he hears his name in Louis’ voice, a little bit further away, and a little bit less intrusive, he collects himself as best he can and refocuses on Louis’ words.

“Harry? Earth to Harry?” Louis’ face is out of his field of vision, but he can sense amused eyebrows rising, and hums in response.

“Sorry yeah, no, of course I can hold a spoon,” he retorts, stumbling over an attempt at snark, and wonders why Louis doesn’t seem to notice the shake in his voice. Cold metal slides into his left hand, and he is relieved to find that he can at least hold a spoon successfully.

Having gotten over the initial shock at his body’s reaction, Harry follows Louis’s mumbles and gesticulated instructions, and cautiously allows himself to observe, again.

Louis’ small hand is holding Harry’s together, for support rather than manipulation, and the index finger of his left hand is swirling and scooping and generally drawing in front of his face, probably in demonstration of what his chopsticks are meant for. But half-sentences and encouragements are still being breathed right into Harry’s temple, and he only just catches himself from turning his head.

The anxious, nervous part of him wants to cringe away and freak out, Harry recognizes; and seems to manifest through a restless, racy heartbeat. But Louis’ hands are nice, and soft, and his voice is low and warm in Harry’s hair, and Harry’s nose seems to distinguish a faint scent of lavender and Louis through a veil of pho ga, so naturally another part of Harry wants to lean into the warm body on his left.

His mouth seems somehow more aware of reality, god bless, because it seemingly gauges an appropriate moment to respond. “Okay, yes, oof,” he mumbles with a chuckle as Louis’ right hand slowly releases his own, and Harry gives chopsticks a run. Louis’ hand isn’t missed though, because now it’s resting on a layer of curls on his shoulder, which isn’t unfamiliar  _ at all, _ so what the fucking fuck gives his skin the right to feel so tingly and weird??

Louis swallows a laugh at Harry’s strained attempt at loading a spoonful and raising it to his mouth, and when some slides out and Harry’s eyes bulge in anticipation of the splash, Louis breathes a cackle. Some tension is dispersed as they laugh and giggle, Harry fighting abuse with a middle finger half restricted by chopsticks and Louis rolling his eyes as he leans over for a napkin.

“Here,” he laughs, turning Harry’s face to him by the chin, and it’s not an awkward gesture in the slightest as he tucks a Christmas napkin to his chin, but then his blue eyes accidentally snap up to Harry’s, and something  _ must  _ be clear to read there because the napkin halts and eyes stop in their tracks. Chewing gradually slows, the napkin lowers, and Harry’s small swallow enforces a still silence, eyes fixed on eyes.

Louis seems to be asking, searching, with a small crease between his eyebrows, as his eyes shift between Harry’s, but Harry doesn’t know what for, and so the only appropriate thing to do seems to be studying the offending blues, and deep pupils, and also just  _ Louis _ in general, apparently. Louis’ chest is rising and falling somewhat shallowly, and the breaths are delivered past closed lips and through his nose, and he is far enough that the air cools by the time it collides with the skin of Harry’s nose. And  _ oh,  _ mention of lips was a mistake, because Harry doesn’t realize he’s glanced down  _ at all  _ until Louis shifts aside, clearing his throat, and mumbling a frowned excuse to leave, which remains unheard.

…

Events proceed as normal after that, if slightly stilted, and soon enough Liam, god bless that boy, is back to resurrect casualness. How he chose this day to be the first one ever he comes home early and only mildly drunk, Harry doesn’t know, but he hopes that his eyes have kept up their unfortunate habit of communicating alarming thoughts for just this once.

It’s too late to go home, or, well, it isn’t really, but this is them after all , and so it isn’t long until they’ve all changed into whatever comfy clothes were within reach, and planted themselves on the sofa-bed in front of a movie. It is much like every other time; Liam lounging on the outer end, tossing giggly comments at everything because he is tipsy and because he is a riot, and Louis lying down in the middle, fingers locked behind his head, all sarcastic comments and sleepy innuendos. Only Harry feels different, sitting curled up in the cushioned corner of the sofa-bed; and he probably looks the same, with a bowl of French fries on his lap, telling jokes with awkward hands and half-sentences, but he knows it’s not the same, because the urge to drag Liam away somewhere and frantically steal all his wisdom is entirely new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WHAT DO WE THINK?  
> thanks for the reads and all the lovely :) you are all fab.


	6. Part 6: Confused Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HAPPY THURSDAY! 
> 
> Larry College AU, SFW. 
> 
> As always, much thank to my beta for all the things, and then some ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

Is it weird to text while you’re watching a movie with best friends? No, Harry can swear he’s done it before. Maybe the awkward level is upped by the fact he’s typing at someone sitting not two feet away, but to hell with it, right? Louis' head is pressed slightly into the side of his leg, and he seems to be paying attention to the movie, and surely Liam’s phone is somewhere within reach, isn’t it? That boy is forever available.

_ You: Friday, 10:47 PM _

_ Liam, MAYDAY _

Harry is grateful for Liam’s discretion, when he maintains their spoken conversation while typing, and who ever said men couldn’t multitask?

_ Liam: Friday, 10:50 PM _

_ YES, hi, are you okay?? I wasn’t expecting you here tonight, things looked awkward! _

Did they? They must have.

_ You: Friday, 10:58 PM _

_ Impromptu coming out story convo happened and then a moment, I’m still debating on that, but I had a question _

_ Liam: Friday, 11:04 PM _

_ Yes, shoot _

_ You: Friday, 10:09 PM _

_ Do you think someone can live for 20 years and never be properly turned on? _

_ Liam: Friday, 11:16 PM _

_ That depends, have they seen Magic Mike? _

_ Okay, no, I’m kidding, obvi. Umm, I don’t know, there is a big difference I think in getting horny for like a love scene and actually being  _ in  _ a love scene, if you get me _

_ Liam: Friday, 11:22 PM _

_ And like there are people who don’t realize they’re gay until after half a marriage and three kids, so, you know, it must be possible _

_ You: Friday, 11:26 PM _

_ OKAY WHAT ARE YOU SAYING _

_ Liam: Friday, 11:27 PM _

_ YES, I’m saying yes, of course it’s possible, why Harry?? What happened earlier _

_ You: Friday, 11:30 PM _

_ No.. Shh. _

_ go away _

Liam looks over in what seems to be an appraisal of the depth of his blush.

_ Liam: Friday, 11:31 PM _

_ Okay Harry, it’s okay, how can I help? _

_ You: Friday, 11:42 PM _

_ What would you say to this person? _

_ Liam: Friday, 11:47 PM _

_ Well if they have never been turned on, I don’t know what I would tell them. Watch Magic Mike? But your question implies that they may have stumbled upon an onturning after 20 years of drought, so I might tell them to identify the clouds that made it rain if you catch my drift, and look into that area for future happy times? _

Harry stifles a laugh despite himself.

_ You: Friday, 11:51 PM _

_ Liam, I love you, you big hilarity of an asshole _

_ Liam: Friday, 11:56 PM _

_ Do you know how much frustration it is taking not to inquire about said clouds???????? You are killing me _

Yes, the said clouds. Let’s inquire, Harry. But for some reason he blushes furiously and feels self-conscious at  _ himself,  _ what the hell is that?

It’s a new low, that’s what. His screen lights up.

_ Liam: Friday, 12:03 AM _

_ Although, if I may be so bold, don’t you need to be turned on for sex? _

Ah, yes. Sex. Harry buries his face in his hands, aware that Liam can see it, and curls one hand into a rude gesture.

_ Liam: Friday, 12:05 AM _

_ And if you are in fact having horrifying sex, then why aren’t we having this conversation *whenever your (un)sexytimes commenced*? _

Harry realizes the credits are rolling, because they’ve spaced their texts out impossibly in an effort not to alert Louis. Louis, who now flops over onto his stomach and decidedly doesn’t move an inch further, the adorable muffin. Liam and Harry both scoot down into lying positions, murmuring antagonistic night wishes and struggling over blankets.

Harry curls on his side, facing Louis, whose face is turned to Harry but covered entirely by a thick curtain of hair. He doesn’t look cold in his oversized sweatsuit, but Harry stretches his blanket over the snuggly shape just in case.

His screen lights up for the final time, with

_ Liam: Friday, 12:10 AM _

_ You better inform me of your meteorological conclusions asap thankyou <3 _

and Harry chucks a random sock at the larger outline behind Louis, and returns to his previously interrupted cloud watch.

Was it the talking in the ear that set off the… whatever feeling that was? But it’s not as if that’s the first time anyone’s ever talked in his ear, and chopstick action is certainly not the steamiest that’s been said there, so… His ex-girlfriend actually had a thing for mumbling in his ear when things ramped up, Harry recalls with an embarrassed blush; and it always just felt really awkward and kind of invasive.

As he studies tip of a nose, only just poking through thick hair, Harry considers that the “clouds” may have, in all honesty, just been Louis, and Louis' voice in his ear. He reaches a gentle hand, and carefully swoops some hair back, his lips curling into a small smile at the innocent face trapped underneath, flushed warm with sleep. The hair isn’t having it, of course, and only a small patch of cheek remains exposed when Harry takes back his hand.

Harry wonders for a brief moment, how deeply asleep Louis can possibly already be, but Liam’s gradually strengthening snores work to reassure him. He moves slowly, tentatively, to lean in, and brings his face into the warmth of Louis'. He stays close, just letting Louis breathe into him, and recognising that same fluttering rush in his chest from a few weeks earlier. When his nervous breaths feel calmer, he nudges further forward, until confused lips press innocently into the exposed patch of warm skin. He’s not sure if the intimate gesture is even a kiss, or just nudging his lips and nose into Louis' cheek, but it doesn’t matter; Louis is so close, and feels nice, and smells nice, and his warm breath caresses Harry’s exposed throat and collarbone, and it’s warm and close and nice.

Kissing cheeks isn’t a thing that they frequent, Harry realizes as he slides back to his original position. He has no reason to feel frustrated when it feels ‘different,’ this time, and maybe that’s why the heat in his cheeks and nervousness in his stomach aren’t making him want to reach for running shoes. He remains lying where he is, close, his body only just grazing the warm bubble of Louis' radiating heat. It takes a while, for him to relax and drift to sleep.

And as he drifts, one awkward hand, that doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest, sinks into a small palm that sleeps in a relaxed curl by Louis' thigh; and feels warm, and the same, and different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you liked it - thanks for the reads and kudos and please leave a comment!, I’m channelling virtual thank to everybody’s face boxes! *ommm*


	7. Part 7: Feverish Lips

**Everything has been completely fine. Liam is fine, if a teasing little shit; Harry is fine, if a little confused, and Louis is… well, still not clued in, so – yeah, fine. So, the new problem seems to be, that Harry now wants to kiss his face, all of the time.**

**He thought, at first, that it would be a fairly isolated incident, because an awake Louis isn’t nearly as soft and warm and cuddly and vulnerable as a sleeping Louis. And while he felt a little flustered in the morning, he was fine; and Louis was already up like he always is, waiting with tea and a wink. It was all good. But Harry stayed the day, and they went bar hopping with a bunch of other friends that night, and stumbled back to the apartment together, and you know what? Hammered Louis** **_is_ ** **all those things, x100 on the cuteness scale, with his sparkly eyes and his slurring, and his drunken eyebrows rising over heavy blues, in an attempt to squint away the haze.**

**Harry had still been self-conscious of the previous night, and so didn’t work up the courage, though a small peck would have been easily accepted in their drunken state.**

**He hasn’t been drunk with Louis after that; whether coincidentally, or subconsciously on purpose, he doesn’t know.**

**It has been an unspoken consensus with Liam that he has questionable feelings for Louis, and he has been ‘discretely’ muttering** **_“Oh!”_ ** **to him whenever chance arose, and despite Harry’s insults and the skyrocketing frequency of middle fingers, he was grateful of his tact. He was pushy exclusively when he needed it, and didn’t meddle, and has never once prompted him to label his feelings. Hence, it is Harry who texts, at an unreasonable hour on a Tuesday night.**

**_You: Wednesday 03:21 AM_ **

**_Liam, what the hell is this?_ **

**_You: Wednesday 04:12 AM_ **

**_When do I go to him..._ **

**_Liam: Wednesday 07:37 AM_ **

**_Oh, Haz. Maybe you go to him, when you can answer the first question for yourself? Because I have no jurisdiction there, you know that._ **

**_Liam: Wednesday 07:41 AM_ **

**_Alternatively, maybe you go to him when you feel like you need to, or when you know what you want to get out of it. Just… Be careful with him, okay? Don’t expect endless objective wisdomosity._ **

**_(that’s my jurisdiction.)_ **

**_And just.. yeah, be careful with him._ **

**Harry sighs. It’s been… well, weeks, since that party. Weeks since his first chest flutter. And if he continues this way, it is soon going to be weeks since the confused kiss on the cheek that has messed with his head so much.**

**Harry sighs, again. It feels like time for him to talk to Louis.**

**He sighs into his hands. How in the hell should he be going about this? What** **_does_ ** **he want to achieve? And what did Liam mean, ‘be careful with him?’**

**He sighs.**

**He wants to label his feelings for Louis?**

**Well, no. He wants to** **_act_ ** **on his feelings for Louis. When all is said and done, absolutely no shits are given for labels.**

**And, approaching Louis might jeopardise any future opportunity for acting on his feelings. His attraction? Oh, fuck it. Attraction is a feeling, isn’t it? Let’s just call it feelings.**

**So… he wants to label his orientation of the adult kind? Well, he doesn’t really care, if he’s honest, but that sounds like clarity, and clarity sounds refreshing.**

**Can Louis even help with that, though?**

**Well, Harry can think of a few things Louis could do to help, but they all sound more like one of his recent alarming dreams, than plausible future.**

**He actually just wants to talk to Louis, Harry realizes. He wants Louis to be made aware of his (some of his? Not all of his!) thoughts.**

**On impulse, Harry picks up his phone.**

**_Hey Louis,_ ** **he types.** **_I kind of want to talk to you about something, but I want you to be a little drunk, can that be arranged? sometime in the near future?_ **

**He gets more nervous as he re-reads the sent message. It sounds alarming.**

**_Louis: Wednesday, 03:21 PM_ **

**_Umm… Are you planning on being drunk, too?_ **

**_You: Wednesday, 03:22 PM_ **

**_Well, I feel like I don’t want to flush what little coherence I possess down the drain?_ **

**_Is it too weird?_ **

**_Louis: Wednesday, 03:24 PM_ **

**_Okay, sure, but why do you want me to be drunk?_ **

**Why do I? Harry wonders.**

**_You: Wednesday, 03:25 PM_ **

**_Well, you don’t need to be I guess, but I’m hoping for a sincere supportive mood, characteristic of Tipsy Louis :)_ **

**_Louis: Wednesday, 03:28PM_ **

**_You want to talk to me about something, and you need me sincere and supportive? Okay, Haz, I’m gonna come over tonight, if you’re up for it. I’m not promising any specific blood alcohol content, but I’ll be my sincerest self. Xo_ **

**Harry smiles, because even that text reeks of sincerity and support. He confirms the arrangement, and then decidedly doesn’t prepare himself for it, in an attempt to forestall nerves.**

**Louis comes around at seven-something, but Harry’s parents are going to be home soon and it looks like rain so Harry drives them out to the park, and they curl next to each other on a small cushioned bench, huddled against the back wall of a tiny closed gazebo. It’s kind of warm and stuffy, foggy even, and it feels relaxed while not casual, but Harry thinks that’s good. Louis isn’t drunk, or even tipsy, and even though he is looking supportive and sincere, he doesn’t seem cuddly, and Harry thinks that maybe that’s what he was aiming at with his ‘tipsy’ request.**

**It’s silent for a while, and Harry realizes that it is up to him to kick this conversation going, but he can’t think of anything to say.**

**Louis pipes up after a bit.**

**“Is everything okay, Haz?” Harry looks up into concerned blue eyes and hums slightly. “I don’t want to push you, but I’m kind of worried, and I just want to know if I should be.”**

**“Um, no, I don’t think so,” Harry shakes his curls slightly. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s just a thing that’s, umm, been on my mind for a while and I’m kind of confusing myself with it on my own.” Louis watches shy fingers fiddle with a sleeve. His silence is the nodding kind, but after a while it isn’t enough, and Louis desperately wants to help Harry voice whatever is on his mind.**

**“What is it about?” he encourages, but Harry seems to lower his head even more now, and generally looks like a frightened child. Louis' hand reaches out automatically, but he stops himself, inexplicably unsure if physical contact is welcomed now. Then he remembers Harry’s tipsy request, and proceeds to stroke his pointer finger on the skin of an awkward hand, until long fingers wrap around it and Harry sighs.**

**“Baby… Haz, do you need help with this?” he asks, very softly, and the curled shape in front of him. Harry lets a small nod, followed by a weak, high-pitched “Uh huh,” and Louis feels the grip on his pointer finger tighten. He nods to himself.**

**“Okay. Umm…” he’s not sure where to start, and oof, this is a little hard. “You said it’s been on your mind for some time. How long?”**

**He receives a small “umm,” and that isn’t an answer, but he waits.**

**“Maybe… Do you remember our party?” Harry looks up, but only very briefly. “The first high school party you hosted. I guess a few weeks ago.”**

**“Oh… Yeah, I remember, of course.” Louis waits, hoping maybe Harry will elaborate, and Harry does.**

**“Well, I don’t know if you remember because you were kind of sleeping for most of it, but we talked, later I mean, after the party… Yeah,” he shrugs. “Since then, I guess.”**

**“Since that conversation?” Louis thinks back, trying to isolate anything that could have made Harry this insecure. “Oh – about your love life?”**

**Harry nods, small but not hesitant.**

**“Okay, umm…” An alarming thought occurs to him. “Did… did something happen?” Harry looks up now in question, probably at the upset in Louis' voice. “Did someone… do something?” Harry frowns, slightly. “To you?”**

**“Oh – no, no, nothing like that, it’s just… A struggle with my own brain, I guess,” Harry chuckles weakly as Louis exhales a tense breath. He rummages his brain again, and Harry is right, he was drunk and tired,** **_fuck,_ ** **why doesn’t he pay attention at times like these, great going Louis… He remembers vague mentions of dates, anxiety, sexuality… Oh, wait. A comical voice of panic emerges from the oblivion of his memory:** **_“Oh my god, guys, what if I’m asexual??”_ **

**“Is… Is, um, this about your… - about** **_you_ ** **?” Louis exhales, unsure how to approach Harry, who seems to be fraying at the edges slightly. He nods, but it’s unnecessary, because** **_christ Louis_ ** **, who else is it going to be about, and Louis fills his lungs with humid air before continuing. “Harry,” he breathes gently. “Is it your preference? Are you questioning things?”** **_Oh,_ ** **and one question at a time would have probably been advisable, because this seems too much for Harry now, and it is purely instinct when Louis pulls a trembling Harry to him, and holds him tightly, as if trying to keep him from coming apart. Harry seems to release all of his nerves in one abrupt, long fit of shivers, when certain hands rub at his back and tight whispers of comfort are mumbled into his hair.**

**Harry feels himself relax slowly, and then it’s just Louis, Louis' scent in his lungs, and Louis' face by his ear, and Louis under the fistful of cotton he is clutching, and** **_Louis Louis Louis._ **

**So all the Louis takes some time to get used to, and when he does, Harry finds he is surprised that he hasn’t completely lost himself and done something regrettable.**

**When Harry’s breathing slows, so does Louis' shushing. After a long few minutes of synched breathing and shared warmth, Louis nudges Harry slightly with his face, as if asking permission to continue. Harry nods slightly into the curve of Louis' neck, and somehow his lip seems to graze the soft skin of his throat, and Harry swears his heart flips out just a little.**

**Louis waits for Harry to calm down again in his arms before he speaks, cautiously.**

**“You know that whatever it is, you’re okay, right?” he whispers into Harry’s hair. “There is no ‘wrong way’ to feel, about anything, you know that, right?” Harry nods again, and hums against his neck, and Louis wants to kick himself when the vibration sends a shiver down his spine, because** **_really Louis, now?!_ ** **But Harry needs his focus now, and he continues. “And you know that you can tell me, I’m not going to be upset, or whatever you might be scared of. You’re okay,” he whispers again reflexively, and a muffled “thank you” sounds into his neck. He really wishes he could shift Harry, because the neck is always his soft spot, and he hates himself a little at this thought, because who has thoughts like these when their best friend is this vulnerable? But then Harry tilts his head a bit, and now his nose, and maybe his lips too, are against Louis, and he cannot help but swallow when he feels them mumble a low “Louis” into his skin.**

**He stays completely still, knowing that Harry must feel the thudding of his heart, and tries to ignore what is obviously not an okay situation.**

**He tries to clear his head. “Are you, umm.” He swallows. “Asexual?” he tries, but knows it is in vain, because now it is** **_definitely_ ** **Harry’s lips that are tugging slightly at his skin, and** **_fucking hell,_ ** **they are hot, feverish even, against him. Louis' heart is clearly** **_trying_ ** **to give away his involuntary state of mind, or rather,** **_body,_ ** **when its beating matches the pulsating heat in his lower abdomen. But really, what is Harry expecting would happen? You don’t just go around doing** **_that_ ** **to people’s necks if you expect them not to feel adult feelings, surely?**

**Louis vaguely registers that his hands are gripping the cushions for dear life, and that his head is pushing slightly into the back wall in effort not to arch his back, when Harry moves to nuzzle under his jaw, which flexes in response because of course it would, why not, let’s go all out if we’re at it, and Louis' angry rant is interrupted when Harry’s lips move more firmly back to his neck, and part and a hot, wet tongue pokes to** **_touch_ ** **, and** **_fuck,_ ** **Louis slips out a strangled whimper, because how can he not, really? How?**

**And Harry swirls his tongue tentatively, curiously, his lips still pressed against Louis. Louis, who is panting, and gripping at Harry’s shirt in an effort not to do anything more, to stay frozen.**

**Harry pulls back abruptly, as if in a delayed attempt to catch himself, and then he is the one looking completely freaked out and taken aback, and muttering confused apologies.**

**Louis stays frozen, through Harry’s bout of panic, not daring to so much as blink, but he is instantly softened by hot tears of confusion, and he isn’t even sure how, but now he’s holding Harry back to his chest, and shushing and whispering and reassuring. Because what is his own confusion, compared to what must be going through Harry’s head?**

**“No, hey, Haz, it’s okay, hey, baby,” he shushed, even as his own brain screamed ‘IT IS MOST DEFINITELY NOT.’ “Shh, it’s fine, it happens, don’t even worry, okay?” Harry wasn’t even sobbing now, or freaking out, really, but bewildered tears soaked Harry’s sleeves, and after a while, Louis' shoulder, and that has always been Louis' most feared thing. Harry crying terrified him, twisted his stomach into knots, even when he knew they were necessary, purging tears.**

**He had no idea what these tears were, other than just tears, and even after everything stilled and calmed, he could still feel wetness on his shirt.**

**They said nothing for a long time.**

**Harry stayed on Louis' lap, probably too confused for any big move, but was now hugging his knees to his chest and hiding his face there, instead of into Louis. Louis' hands were resting at his sides, because he didn’t trust them anywhere else, but his demeanour was soft.**

**Harry spoke first. Maybe he felt it was his responsibility, now.**

**“I’m sorry, Louis. I don’t…” Harry trails off, groans. “I don’t even know what that was. I’m sorry.” He breathed a curse, and Louis didn’t shush him this time, because this was different to the frantic stutters from before.”**

**“S’okay,” he mumbles after a bit.**

**“I’m not… no, I’m not asexual, I’m not really sure what I am but I wanted to talk to you about that, and then, I don’t know, I’ve…”**

**“What, Harry?” Louis breathes, and it doesn’t sound harsh, only confused. “I want to help, I really do, but I can’t, if you don’t talk to me.”**

**Harry took a deep breath. “I’ve, umm, been feeling a little… weird, lately, well not weird, but different, kind of curious, ish, I guess,” he mumbles into his knees.**

**The atmosphere feels okay, now, the kind of situation where people confide, and so when Louis asks “About?” Harry knows his hesitation is temporary.**

**“About boys?”**

**Harry… hesitates, and nods, slightly, as if to say ‘kind of.’**

**He waits for Louis to ask the right question, the one Harry knows must be tumbling around his shaggy head, but when Louis breaks the silence, the question isn’t asked.**

**“What… do you want? From me? I mean,” Louis scrambles to rephrase, “What can I do to help?”**

**Harry hesitates. What he really wants to do, he realizes with only mild surprise, is for Louis to kiss him, or at least to be able to kiss Louis' face when he feels like it, but that isn’t helpful, so. So Harry hesitates.**

**“I guess… You went through this, and, you know what helped you,” Harry tries, hoping Louis isn’t also thinking of their conversation regarding** **_Ben,_ ** **because he doesn’t mean to imply anything, truly.**

**Louis' hand rubs at his shoulder, and the gesture can only be described as** **_friendly,_ ** **and why that suddenly seems so out of place, Harry is scared to ask.**

**“Well, okay, I can give you advice, sure, I can do that,” but why does he sound like he is convincing himself, then? “Umm, I’m going to say, do the things that you are curious to do? That can include girls too, guys, whomever. Take note of what you do or don’t – or haven’t in the past – enjoyed. Don’t be afraid to take your time, and things will fall into place. But maybe, um.” Louis rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Maybe don’t do them with me, you know, because we’re best friends, we shouldn’t…” Harry is nodding quickly in agreement, leaving Louis' sentence unfinished. “There are so many other, less invested candidates,” he chuckles awkwardly.** **_No there aren’t._ **

**“Yeah, of course, umm, thanks.” The small eye contact isn’t weird now, it’s fine, Harry thinks.**

**“Yeah, no problem, bro. Are you okay, now? You can always come talk to me more, Harry,” he adds sincerely. “Things will happen, you’ll get confused, that’s normal, and ultimately this is your own journey, but friends are good to have. I think,” he adds with a huff. “I wouldn’t know. I came out to you in the mess hall.” The boys chuckle together, now, but it’s stiff, and stilted.**

**“Alright,” says Louis, rubbing conclusively at Harry’s back. “Let’s get home, before power’s out.” Harry frowns, because he’s been completely oblivious to the raging storm, and nods.**

**The drive back is casual, forcedly so, and Louis doesn’t stay, or accept a ride, but does squeeze Harry’s forearm in goodbye before turning away and almost running through the rain.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thoughts, feelings? Thank all for kudos and reads! Have a good Friday!


	8. Part 8: Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Sorry for such a brief update today, my best friend/ girl I kiss now just came home after three months in China!!!!!!! So I've been a bit busy :-)

Liam is raging. In anger. He is raging in anger because he is angry and hurt and  _ fucking  _ **_fuck_ ** _ ,  _ how did he let this happen, the _ absolute moron  _ of a friend?!

It is mostly at himself, the anger. Mostly. And he wants to yell and scream and fucking argue, because  _ why in the fuck?! _

At himself. He wants to yell and scream, at himself.

Mostly.

But also, minorly, he is fucking wounded and confused and outraged, because  _ what part of ‘be careful with him didn’t register,  _ **_fucking really?!_ **

And so a growly grunt of anger escapes his chest, when his  _ fucking phone  _ buzzes yet again. And he hasn’t looked, and doesn’t want to look, and wants to be angry and yell and shout and fucking  _ break,  _ and instead all he can do is press fists against his eyes until it  _ hurts _ ; but at broken, struggled requests that won’t hear no, even now, he picks up his  _ fucking phone  _ and tries to compose himself. Tries to focus on the pang of guilt and sympathy he has for Harry, who is probably confused and didn’t mean for it to play out like this.

_ Wednesday, 09:34 PM _

_ I went to Louis… _

_ Wednesday, 10:16 PM _

_ Liam, I’m kind of freaking out right now, can I call you? _

_ Wednesday, 10:49 PM _

_ Did you talk to Louis? _

Harry had no idea, Liam reminds himself. He doesn’t deserve all the blame shoved on him. He types with as much restraint as he can muster; so much, that the muscles of his thumbs cramp up.  _ And good. _

_ I can’t talk to you right now, Harry.  _ He sighs, adding  _ Just relax,  _ because he is  _ fucking lovely,  _ and that fucking stings so much, and mostly, his heart goes out to him, too.

Except not so much right now, when his heart doesn’t go out anywhere; because his heart is absolutely and completely  _ shattering _ ,  _ again,  _  by panicked ragged breaths and nails digging into damp skin, and tight fists clutching desperately into wet hair, as a small, small figure curls into himself and  _ hurts _ , and hurts and hurts and hurts.

…


	9. Part 9: Flushed Cheek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HELLO, hi, here is a compassionate pat on the head to everyone who is upset, you all are lovely and I am sending you zen thoughts, ommmm.

Liam doesn’t sleep.

When he is satisfied that Louis has tangled himself fully in a web of what are probably restless flashes of nightmare, he only just makes it to the toilet on time, and empties the remnants of his club crawl into it. With a sour taste in his mouth and blood pounding in his ears, he curls on the tiles of the hot shower, and sobs into his clothes.

What happens now? It was almost three years ago when Louis showed up on his doorstep in a cloud of self-deprecation and whiskey, and crashed his heart’s secrets into Liam’s arms. And for three years, they have gone on pretending; pretending that he didn’t harbour feelings that made him a cuddly drunk who sneaked out of bed at first light, and a hopeless romantic who drowned in meaningless one-night-stands, and an endlessly caring friend that went through bouts of such severe aloofness, that Liam would spend secret hours in a dark hallway, waiting for sounds of life, those few times that he slipped up. So, what happens now?

Are they going to continue pretending that Liam doesn’t see everything, hear every lisped whisper from drunken lips, struggle not to resent every morning that Harry needs a cuddly awakening? Because he can do that. He could. Maybe it’s for the better, because in three unspoken years, Louis has  _ never once  _ crashed as hard as he crashed tonight.

But Harry is just as much his friend, and he wants for him to be able to figure out what he needs to figure out, and maybe this was just a sudden painful reminder for Louis, maybe next time when inevitably Harry lets his walls down, maybe then Louis will be more prepared, more guarded. Less in denial.

It wasn’t really dealing with Harry’s emotions, that broke Louis. Liam figures. It was his own emotions, being forcibly tugged out of denial and into the forefront of his mind, after three years of pent up fear, and vulnerability, and self-loathing. All at once, and without any sort of warning whatsoever. If he can resist pushing them too far back, maybe they can both figure it out, and be okay, he tells himself.

Liam knows, then, as he struggles out of soaked clothes, that it all depends on how Louis chooses to cope, in the morning. Whether they bottle it up and brace for  _ another  _ three years… or not. The thought washes over him ominously.

He waits through the night sick with anticipation.

…

Louis looks in the mirror. His face has definitely seen better days. The skin of his cheeks feels too taut, as skin sometimes does when tears dry, and he grimaces out the stretch.

He rushes his bathroom routine, and when he starts feeling marginally more human, he makes his way to the kitchen in remarkably stiff, padded footsteps, noticing for the first time the excess sweatpant material wrapping around his feet. Liam must have dressed him dry last night. The realization makes his throat burn.

He nearly cringes, when he sees Liam, sitting tensely at the table. He looks exhausted, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Louis' jaw clenches.

He feels him eye him carefully as he sits down, with nervous worry behind feigned half-casual demeanour.

“Morning,” he says reservedly.

“Yeah, phew.”

What?

“I’ve made tea.” Liam seems unsure whether to offer a cup. “Are you staying?”

What?

“Yeah – thanks Liam,” Louis says as he gets up to pour himself a cup. Liam watches him intently, seeming as if his choice of morning mug was somehow making him stiff with suspense. Louis raises one eyebrow to himself, refrains from avoiding his usual favourite - a large dark red mug with the words “YOU MUGGED ME” and a picture of a very displeased glaring Harry printed on it. “Yeah, I’m staying. I wanted to talk to you, actually, if you’re not busy?”

He shakes his head.

“I wanted to say thanks for last night,” Louis says, focused on pouring and stirring. “That… fuck, that must have been really shitty for you, thanks for sticking around,” he exhales, glancing at him with slightly avoidant but thankful eyes. “I… got it out of my system, I think. I’m alright now,” he smiles weakly as he joins him at the table, cupping his mug and blowing softly at its steaming contents.

Liam is silent for a long time, not reacting aside from a small nod at Louis' thanks.

“So…,” he begins after a stretch of time. “Louis. Is this where we talk about the thing we have been putting off talking about for three years?” His tone is slightly strained, but gentle, and Louis knows that there is room to say no.

He swallows, though, and shrugs aloofly. “I don’t know if a big conversation needs to happen, Li.” He sounds a little more sour than he intended, he realizes, but he really doesn’t want to go through some big confession and drama over something that they both already know. 

“I don’t either, love,” he says gently. “But you are finally not pretending all of this doesn’t exist, so I want to grab the chance before it slips through my fingers.”

Louis sighs. “A chance to do what?”

He chuckles half-heartedly, and stays silent for a long time.

“Have you ever said it? Out loud.” he asks carefully.

Louis shakes his head after a moment. “But we both know it’s true,” he mumbles.

Liam opens his mouth to say something, but stops mid-breath, and relents for the moment. They talk for a while more, about recent events and tentative fears, and Harry, slowly relaxing into each other’s company. After a while, the conversation eases into a comfortable lull.

“Liam?” Louis asks tentatively.

Liam hums in response.

“I’m in love with Harry.”

Liam smiles.

…

Harry doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He cries a little, admittedly, but just a little, because Liam’s text hurts and makes him feel small and because he doesn’t understand.

But he falls asleep to music, because he is an over-thinker and a restless sleeper and a nightmare-haver.

The thing is, he knows he screwed up, and quite clearly crossed a line with Louis. And he feels guilty because Louis is gay, and that’s not fair; he knows Louis' thoughts and feelings about confused straight boys and their end-inducing properties. He doesn’t want Louis to think he was being used for experimentation.

Which obviously Louis thought, because he went on about there being ‘so many other boys’ he could explore with, or whatever.

And he also knows that Louis and him won’t be weird now, and so not feeling guilty about that aspect makes him feel guilty.

And he also feels kind of guilty, ironically enough, for his newfound clarity: he wants to kiss Louis.

He wants to kiss Louis? He wants to kiss his face, yes, as per the earlier consensus, and that’s a thing, but it’s ultimately excusable, because Louis is really the fucking cutest sometimes – who wouldn’t want to kiss his face?

However, as had happened earlier with the face-kissing incident, he now wants to kiss Louis' neck, also.

And really, would not be opposed if other, more conventional places to kiss, were open for kissing.

And would have no qualms if Louis wanted to go back to doing that thing where he gets drunk and affectionate, and prone to kissing Harry’s face, too.

But places to kiss, are not open for kissing. And Louis isn’t doing that thing anymore.

Harry wants to kind of huff childishly at that.

He doesn’t  _ want  _ to experiment with other boys. He doesn’t want to experiment with _ Louis _ , for that matter. He doesn’t want to make hypotheses, and gather data and draw conclusions. He just wants to put his mouth where he pleases, okay? Is that so much to ask for?

Yes, it most absolutely is.

Harry knows, from books and movies, that he should be more worried about fucking up their friendship. But like, he kissed Liam, once, during seven minutes in heaven in fucking  _ freshman year –  _ and it was literally seven minutes, the kids were ruthless – and they have not been screwed up.

And Liam and Louis kissed like, four times, right?

Nothing is weird. After ten years of best friendship, and two comings out, several seeing-each-other-nakeds, and one never-to-be-lived-down shower experience interruption, Harry isn’t sure if anything can make them weird anymore.

And, of course, none of those things ever  _ meant  _ anything. But why does wanting to kiss Louis' face need to mean something? He just wants to kiss it, for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t want to  _ marry  _ it.

But he recognizes, of course, that Louis isn’t to be toyed with. He doesn’t mean it selfishly, at all, Harry swears. He actually kind of wants Louis to sleep, and never know his face has been kissed, like that other time. Harry would be fine with that. Honest.

And what harm could there be, with that?

Really, what harm?

…

And the next day when Louis texts him an emoji shit, Harry indeed hopes that nothing is weird anymore. And so the next time they crash together on the sofa bed, Harry remains decidedly awake, as Liam snores next to Louis. And when Louis drifts to sleep, on his back this time, and his shaggy head falls to the side towards Harry, Harry scoots closer until he can feel Louis' warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. He studies his peaceful expression, and prominent collarbones and the defined curve of his lip, wondering why the thing he seems to want to do most, is to put his face close to Louis' face, and breathe him in, and touch skin and feel warmth. He lies there and  _ feels _ , for a long moment, before nuzzling his face into a soft, flushed cheek.

  .

Louis stirs.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thoughts, feelings, predictions? 
> 
> Thanks for all the things, friends! Gonna be posting another 2 chapters today cause I was away for a while!


	10. Part 10: Intimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: AHH. It has arrived!

**Have you ever tried to pinpoint the very first thing that floats into your consciousness as you are waking up?**

**Louis wonders if the first thing you become aware of, is in fact the thing that is causing your awakening; like the distorted sound of an alarm clock, or the construction drill down the street.**

**Or, in this case, a tickly and distinctly** **_warm_ ** **movement against his cheek.**

**Louis listens vaguely to his mind, as it gradually becomes aware of his body. Or, rather, the presence of what is decidedly** **_not_ ** **his body, seemingly attempting to fuse** **_with_ ** **his body.**

**It feels invasive, for a moment, because after the first few seconds of consciousness limbo, his senses are briefly overwhelmed. There is a hand on his stomach, and his entire left side is overly warm with contact, and not to mention the** **_face_ ** **in his face. It is a whole lot of** **_‘…the fuck?!’_ ** **to contend with so suddenly, when you’re in a questionable state of consciousness.**

**But after the initial surprise, it isn’t… entirely unwelcome. The hand has sunk into the taut skin of him upper abs, curled loosely around whatever overly-warm fabric is clothing him torso. And the body lying next to his doesn’t feel assertive or pushy: it is just** **_there_ ** **, being close; and in fact,** **_his own_ ** **face seems to be diving into its space of warmth. Louis can kind of distinguish closed lips on his cheek, and the slight pressure of a nose, but mostly it is just very warm skin. And air, which seems to be filling up the pockets of space under his jaw, and caressing the curves of his neck and chest, with a very** **_personal_ ** **kind of warmth.**

**It feels intimate.**

**And smells like Harry, which – Louis has always firmly believed that you can’t smell your surroundings when you’ve just woken up, because you’ve been sautéing in them for too long to still be able to distinguish scents; but now his face is** **_very_ ** **close to Harry’s throat, and that’s just not true anymore.**

**Not that Louis has any qualms. He can admit defeat. Never been a sore loser. Fuck, when defeat smells this good, he is a very content loser.**

**He wonders if Harry has noticed he’s awake. His eyelashes feel like maybe they are grazing skin, but who knows. He hums Harry’s name in a soft lisp.**

**Harry freezes.**

**He wasn’t moving before, so Louis isn’t sure what the determining criteria for ‘freezing’ is, but that is definitely what happens.**

**Maybe he’s holding his breath. The warm cocoon of air around their heads is starting to disperse, and feel colder against Louis' skin, but another whisper of Harry’s name half-mumbled into the skin of his jaw seems to reassure him, and he cautiously relaxes.**

**Louis' heart is pounding; in a way that makes him sure its rhythm would be visible on his chest, if he were to look. But Harry’s breathing is equally flustered, hot and intimate against Louis' cheek, and their positions feel equal. It reassures Louis.**

**So when Harry breathes a timid, hesitant “…Louis?” into his cheek, Louis hums in response, or in encouragement. Harry seems to bury his face closer, caressing his skin softly with his nose and lips, in an emotion Louis cannot distinguish. The seconds of silence that follow are hesitant.**

**“I want to kiss you…”**

**It’s a confession, far more than it is a request. Harry’s words break slightly against Louis' cheek, and his voice seems hesitant to confess, and shaky with shyness, but not unsure of the truth of his words; and so Louis treats it like a request, when he shyly nuzzles the hint of an acquiescent nod against Harry’s cheek.**

**Harry’s breath hitches, and holds, while he seemingly gathers his nerve, and Louis' stomach tightens in reflex when long fingers uncurl and readjust their fragile grip on his shirt. It is only a few seconds, though, as if Harry cannot wait, cannot resist, or doesn’t want to give himself any more time for hesitation, until his nose and lips nudge slowly across soft skin, to the corner of Louis' mouth. His face pulls away then, but the absence of its heat has been more than compensated by a strong, hot blush in Louis' cheeks.  His face pulls away so as to allow green eyes to search blue ones, but all cats are black in the night, and so black eyes search black ones instead, and it supports the dream-like atmosphere even better this way.**

**Slowly, very slowly, Harry pokes his face closer, and how those two inches take so long to travel baffles Louis, baffles him almost as much as the exponential nature of his heartbeat’s strength, which seems intent on full disclosure tonight. When Harry pauses, with his mouth so close that Louis can feel heat reach his own, he thinks he might have a heart attack. But tonight is Harry’s, so he lies perfectly still, and waits.**

**Overheated lips close the tiny gap, and press deeply against thin ones. Except that it isn’t hot lips, and thin lips; it is Harry and Louis, touching in a way so intimate and so** **_real_ ** **that ten years of friendship suddenly seem incomplete. Not enough.**

**It feels different from a kiss. Their lips aren’t locked; it is closed mouths, pressing intimately in a tender collision. He can feel Harry’s nose gently poking at the side of his own, and radiating heat seems to envelop their faces, and small, hot puffs of air hit his cheek as Harry breathes.**

**It is innocent, oddly so, Louis notes, but all the more intimate for it. Louis feels thirteen again; or how thirteen** **_would_ ** **have felt, had it have been with Harry. Because Harry feels confused against his lips, confused in a shy and quiet and very Harry way; a way that makes Louis feel gentle and protective and affectionate, even though he is confused himself, and shy himself, and doesn’t feel like he knows what he is doing any more than Harry does. They are equally lost, tonight. It is soothing.**

**Louis is the first to move his lips. It feels completely different, from the way a kiss usually feels. They aren’t pressing now, as much; their faces are so closely nuzzled into each other, that lips don’t need to press to be pushed together. They move tentatively, not parting open, in a slow, soft mesh of warmth so consuming that Louis barely registers, when Harry’s hands travel to him collarbones and clasp at him shirt there. And without any consent of his own, his hand finds itself buried warmly in Harry’s hair, tangling gently, curling in subtle tandem with the kissing of their lips.**

**…**

**Harry doesn’t know how long they stay pressed closely into each other, with soft lips kissing, and a pair of hands that want to do more but can’t, and so grip at Louis' shirt, and hold him closer, as close as he can be pulled. He really wants to know if Louis is aware of what his hand in Harry’s hair is doing to him, because first of all he himself would like it explained thank you; but also, this kiss isn’t that type of kiss. It isn’t a kiss that progresses; it is a kiss that simply continues** **_happening_ ** **, for minutes or hours. And Harry** **_wants_ ** **the kind of kiss this is, so after a few of those minutes, he finds the composure to tune out the unfamiliar want between his legs, and** **_kiss,_ ** **because that has to be what this is, doesn’t it?**

**Although, Harry has kissed before, and his lips never felt** **_attached_ ** **to another person’s the way they feel attached to Louis' now. Lips separate sometimes, during a kiss, don’t they? Harry doesn’t think their lips have separated a single time, not even to reboot. He has never felt like a kiss involved his** **_face_ ** **, and Louis' face, because their shared heat seems to be just as much a part of this as their lips.**

**He has kissed people’s lips with his lips, before. He has never kissed a** **_person,_ ** **with his person.**

**…**

**Louis can feel when Harry begins to pull him in more desperately, and it isn’t just the taut pulling of his shirt against his shoulder-blades. It is the urgency, the desperation, of soft lips and grappling hands and a strain in Harry’s body. It surprises and shocks him, this desperation, because it doesn’t feel lusty; it feels** **_emotional,_ ** **like an absolute** **_need_ ** **for closeness and intimacy.**

**It surprises him and shocks him, this desperation, because he can recognize it so very vividly, from years of suppressed instinct.**

**It feels like the ultimate reciprocation.**

**So Louis absolutely knows what Harry wants, when his hand pushes from Harry’s waist to his shoulder-blade, and holds them together. One hand is free to release his shirt, now, because Harry is being held close; and trails up Louis' flushed skin, until tentative long fingers curl tenderly next to Louis' mouth, in a quietly affectionate gesture to bring their faces closer.**

**It doesn’t feel less pure, when lips part and open mouths press, and a shy, virginal tongue slips into warmth that is Louis.**

**Harry’s breath catches at the first touch of contact, and he feels vulnerable and young and scared in Louis' embrace, and Louis' mouth comforts him with a gentle greeting.**

**Tongues don’t push, or battle, or engage in any consistent fashion; but rather taste tentatively, and nudge slightly, and flick gently against lips, in intimate exploration.**

**The contrast between the intimate softness of their encounter and the rapid, deafening heartbeats in their chests remains unobserved, as both boys lose themselves completely and utterly; not in each other, but in their togetherness.**

**…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope this was a thing that was good, for you lovely humans, or other things that exist! Let me know! (And if you are a certain insightful asshat whose request for angst has remained thusly crapped on, you should reveal thy tumblr identity and I’ll see what I can do. Maybe. Also hi. I hope you drowned in gay mushy mushness <3) Thank you for all the things and stuff.


	11. Part 11: Tea

_ The contrast between the intimate softness of their encounter and the rapid, deafening heartbeats in their chests remains unobserved, as both boys lose themselves completely and utterly; not in each other, but in their togetherness. _

The first thing that pokes through Harry’s sleepy, foggy haze, are hot, tickly puffs of air at his cheek.

They are nice.

He's a little cold.

They caress his skin gently, in smooth streams of warmth, soothing goosebumps but raising them too, and as he stirs slightly, Louis' nose gently nudges the skin of his cheek.

Everything floods back, hits Harry, washing over his like a body of water erupting through a shattering dam, and suddenly he is  _ very  _ awake.

Louis isn’t. Harry feels his heart  _ pound _ , anxiety twist his stomach, the taste of adrenaline flooding stinging in his gums. Blood pumps in his ears.

Just as he is about to unfreeze, and scramble away, loud thunder rips through the morning, and Harry’s body instinctively curls into the warm, stirring one next to his.

Louis hums vaguely, and before Harry has the chance to collect himself and duck away, blue eyes blink open, searching at the ceiling, focusing in on this new consciousness.

Harry freezes, intently studying the awakening face, his hands still clinging somewhere at Louis' stomach, and as blue eyes wander hazily, and Louis' face dips to the side and meets his eyes, his air comes rushing out of his, his stomach clenches, his eyes lock bewilderedly onto Louis'.

Louis looks for a long moment, and if the same realization washes over his, he contains it, breathing cautiously, decidedly calmly, contemplatively. Somewhere behind his, Liam is stirring, and right as Louis inhales a preparation to speak, a groaned stretch interrupts his and all that passes his lips is a warm exhale, before he snaps out of it, swallows, sitting up hurriedly. Harry follows suit, curling his knees to his chest reflexively, even though Louis stretches sleep from his muscles, and tosses a comment at Liam, and generally behaves like a functioning human.

…

Harry continues to feel alarmingly off balance, the rest of the day. Louis had invited some of their school friends over for a “reunion of catch-up and fries” a while ago, so Harry’s stay-or-go dilemma isn’t really a dilemma. And it must be a combination of things, like the intensity of recent events, and the fact that he got about three hours of sleep, and the confusion swirling around his mind, and the bloody thunderstorm, that throws Harry so fully off balance.

He spends the day mostly quiet, seemingly timid even around Liam, because his vulnerability unmasks the hurt of his message, which he has yet to understand. He keeps very close to Louis, still shy and never looking up, but seeming to use his presence as a security blanket of sorts. He doesn’t touch, not once, despite Louis' only reaction to his closeness being a flustered blush and a restless eye that tries too hard not to look.

Despite feeling exposed, the idea of being alone makes him even more uneasy, so when their friends depart and Louis suggests catching some movie series marathon that Harry doesn’t particularly care for, he nods quickly.

Someone turns the TV on. No one seems to care sufficiently.

When Louis leaves his side to fetch something from his room, Harry hugs his knees tighter to his, seeming to coil in on himself. Liam grabs the long-awaited opportunity to speak to him.

“Haz? Are you okay?” he asks softly with a sprinkle of guilt in his eyes.

Harry nods.

“Is it the thunderstorm?”

Is it? In part, probably. Still, when he nods, he knows he is nodding because he's hurt.

Louis reappears carrying a clipboard, with his dark blue comfort hoodie thrown over his shoulder – the one that brings out his eyes like fucking magic, Harry remembers.

For a second he looks like he is about to chuck the hoodie to Harry curled up on the couch, but he doesn’t; instead depositing himself into Harry’s personal space, and setting the hoodie into Harry’s uncurling lap. His crystal blue eyes meet Harry’s reassuringly.

Harry slips into the hoodie, instantly overwhelmed by how much it smells of Louis, before remembering that Louis sleeps in it whenever he gets a little anxious and needs comfort. It worries him for a moment, but Louis might have been just cold and sniffly (or confused) after his walk home in the rain the other day.­­ When his head re-emerges into the world, he keeps the hood on. It feels like a constant cuddle from Louis.

“I’ve got a Communications paper to pass in at six today,” he explains the clipboard. Harry nods, appreciating the fact Louis knows that just sitting there next to him is soothing.

After what seems like hours of watching as Louis' fingers flex around his pen, and stealing glances to his adorable concentration face with the tongue sticking out (Harry  _ does not  _ by any measure get flustered at the sight of that tongue, and the thought of what it tasted like against his own), and eventually, nuzzling his face into the side of Louis' shoulder, Harry observes the scratching of his fountain-pen getting louder, and the scribbly writing becoming scribblier, and the muscles tensing more frantically, and the glances to the clock becoming more frequent, until Louis sets his pen down, and stretches his hand. Has Harry teased him yet for hand writing? He doesn’t know. Louis looks down to his with a regretful smile and rubs at his neck a little awkwardly.

“I have to pass this in…” he hints hesitantly.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Harry stumbles as he leans away, and watches Louis rub at his eyes under his glasses as he grabs his jacket and keys and half stumbles out the door with a rushed goodbye.

…

Meanwhile, Liam watches Harry watch Louis. There is a childlike admiration in his eyes, which isn’t a new thing, Liam notes, but it seems different. More acknowledged somehow, more outward.

The second Louis is out the door, he scrambles to join Harry on the sofa. He  bows his head further down, but doesn’t flinch away from him, at least.

“Haz,” he starts apologetically. “I’m sorry I was harsh, the other day. I didn’t mean it. I mean, I meant it, in the moment, but should have handled it better.” There is a long pause. “I don’t mean it, anymore. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry mumbles in a small voice. “But, um. Why… why were you off with me?” He  looks at him. “Is it… about, when I went to Louis?” he hints hesitantly, fidgeting with the sleeve of Louis' hoodie.

“Um,” Liam swallows. “Yeah. But, it wasn’t your fault, I didn’t mean to make it your fault, I was just upset, I guess.”

Harry frowns in confusion. “What did I do, though? I mean,” he adds quickly, “and I’m assuming you know what happened,” he looks at him in question and he nods uncertainly, because he isn’t sure how well he pieced together broken words and implications. “But, I mean, was… was Louis angry about it?” he asks tentatively.

“Um, no, not really…” Liam isn’t sure how much to say. Harry frowns.

“I don’t really know what I did, that made you so upset… I mean, I know what I did, obviously, but like…” Liam knows what he means; why would a small error of judgement invoke such uncharacteristic anger in Liam?

“Okay, um. The thing is – Harry, this is a little different, for Louis. I mean, he's gay. And, you’re his best friend. Thinking of you in that way could be kind of risky for his, you know? I guess, I should have stressed it more when I said to be careful with his. What I meant was, he's not always going to be able to keep a clear head, you know? And that can really hurt.”

Harry nods a hoodied nod, but the small frown in his eyes remains, when he speaks.

“What if… what if I don’t want him, to always keep a clear head? Or, what if I don’t want for his unclear head to hurt?”

Liam deadpans at his for a few moments, before deciding straightforward (gayforward?) is the only way forward. “Are you trying to say you want him, Harry?”

Harry blushes, lowering his head in embarrassment. “I… Can I say I don’t really know what I want? Even if it seems pretty clear to me what I want? Okay, that doesn’t make sense,” Harry mumbles rubbing at his eyes. “I guess what I mean is, I really really know what I  _ want _ , action-wise, like, momentarily? But then, I’m not really sure what I want from the situation.”

“And – okay, yeah, I get what you mean,” Liam nods. “So… what do you action-wise?” he questions with a cheeky smile, that seems slightly too forced, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but the deep-and-meaningful feel remains intact.

Harry smiles shyly, before remembering where he is and blushing. “Well, I, um… At the start, I just felt like I want to kiss his face, you know? Or not even like kiss it but just  _ put _ my face in his face,” Harry laughed, seemingly more relaxed now, despite a slight blush. “And umm, this might sound super creepy, I realize that now, but at the time that I realized this, he was sleeping, and I umm, I kissed his cheek,” he chuckles nervously. “Which isn’t a big deal, but then I spent  _ all of the time  _ wanting to kiss his face afterwards. For like, all of these weeks. And then the other day, with the neck thing,” Harry rushes over the badly-received incident, “and that made me want to do  _ that, _ too, and I just…” Harry scrunches his face. “I want to…” he stutters, trails off, because he wants to _ kiss  _ Louis, would not be opposed at  _ all _ if that were to re-happen, and he half-opens his mouth to imply something vague, but then… He  remembers his text, and he inwardly cringes, still shy at the harshness. “What the fuck do I do with that, Liam?” he asks instead, tiredly.

Liam chuckles sympathetically. “Well, I mean, how do you feel about it? The wantiness.”

“Umm.” Harry shrugs. He's fine with it. Mostly, he just wants kissing Louis to become an acceptable habit. That would help the wantiness.

Liam sighs. “Well, I think a conversation with Louis might be inevitable, at some point, so maybe have a good long think about what you want to say. But I think that before even considering  _ considering _ considering setting any kind of lovey-time appointments with Louis, you should test it, a bit, because Louis is not a stoic unattainable creature of stone, Harry. If you were to realize somewhere down the line that what you’re feeling is a boy thing, rather than a Louis thing, well, that is really going to fuck him up.” Harry nods understandingly. “Otherwise, you’re okay, alright? It’ll be okay, worse things have happened. What’s a little same-sex attraction between besties, right?” he winks reassuringly – a gesture he has internalized from Louis over the years.

Harry smiles gratefully.

Even though really… it’s definitely not just a boy thing. He feels no urge to go about kissing other boys. That means it’s not a boy thing, right?

Though, barring last night’s incident which obviously caught him with his walls down, Louis' really going to need Harry to be sure of that, provided he's even  _ remotely  _ interested in starring on ‘Dancing with the Tongues, the (Tentatively) Gay Edition.

And really, he didn’t want to kiss Louis either… Until he kissed his face and then the neck thing and.

Oh  _ dammit,  _ the neck thing. Louis was definitely not down with that. Is he going to regret last night, too? What the fuck even happened, after the neck thing? Harry frowns.

“So… You’re not off with me, anymore? Why?”

“Um…” Liam hesitates. “It’s kind of hard to explain, so I’m not going to try, but I think maybe it might become less hard to explain at some point. I’ll get back to you, if that’s the case.”

“Okay… Was it because you were worried about fucking up our friendship?”

“Oh. Hm. No, I guess… No, not really, I think maybe I should be, but I’m not. I can’t imagine you two ever falling out to that extent. I was more scared about how it would affect Louis, if it went sour, I guess.”

Harry nods, abstractedly relieved that Liam shares his lack of worry for their friendship.

“Hey, Louis is coming back,” Liam hurries, angling out of his chair to look out the window. “Do you want me to give you some discreet privacy, or to never leave your side ever and pee in my mug if I need to and give you time to ponder?”

‘Um,” Harry panicked under pressure. “Privacy, I think. Or – no, okay, yes, privacy. But give me like five minutes to change my mind?” Liam nodded as footsteps thudded on stairs and the door burst open, letting a very soaked and dripping Louis stumble through.

“I wasn’t late,” he announces weakly with a hand gesture of success. Harry and Liam both laugh, one with a noticeable anxious undertone.

“I’ll make tea,” Harry mumbles, moving for the kitchen.

“What, in seven years, when you manage to find everything?” Louis pants, shaking a very wet mop of hair at Liam, who squeaks in outrage.

“Yeah, he's not only going to get pneumonia by then, he’ll already have colonies of mutant rainbow death flowers growing on his grave,” Liam fires, catapulting a series of pillows at Louis.

Harry rolls his eyes, and walks to the kitchen, giving Liam a small nod.

He  hears him deliver a vague, casual excuse as he rummages aimlessly through the kitchen, because yeah, they’re absolutely right, he will never find tea.

But also. They kissed. Harry kissed him. Louis. Louis kissed Harry back.

For an extended period of time.

And didn’t, like, end it. Well. No-one really ended it, it just… got ended. And then they stared at each other for a while and fell asleep. That’s a good thing, right? That’s a thing people do when they aren’t going to freak out?

Is Louis going to freak out? And be upset?

But Harry  _ asked  _ him. Or, at least, alerted him of the happenings. And Louis approved! Ish?

There was ample opportunity for him to nip it in the bud! He can’t really be angry, right?

And where is the fucking tea?! Harry rummages, in bewildered frustration.

His movements slowly halt when he feels Louis standing silently in the archway of the kitchen. He  rises from his squat, still facing away, and for a few seconds he feels the silence tense.

“Harry,” Louis whispers hoarsely, and Harry responds with a sharp intake of breath.

Louis takes a few steps closer, and seems to rustle around for a second, before stepping up close to Harry.

A wet, cold hand appears on Harry’s arm.

He turns slowly to lock his eyes with intensely blue ones, only just becoming aware that his heart rate is a little excessive. Louis silently holds up a packet of tea. He is breathing fast, and deep, and Harry can’t help but stare at the gleaming skin of his neck and the drops of moisture slipping from wet locks, onto damp skin, and rolling down his collarbones.

He remembers to accept the tea, after too long, and try and focus on making a cup of fucking  _ tea _ , goddammit.

“I’ll, um… you should dry off, I mean get changed, and I’ll…” he shakes the tea box.

Louis nods.

Harry tries to go about his business.

Louis  _ looks.  _ He is looking.Too intensely.

Louis leaves, and Harry continues fiddling for a bit, but really, a cup of tea-bag tea takes about  _ no time  _ to set up, and so why would it be strange at all, if Harry hurried through it and padded silently, hesitantly, towards a door cracked open.

He doesn’t feel creepy when he peeks into Louis' room. He feels scared, and excited. And as he watches Louis, with his back to the door, pulling the soaked jumper over his head, and then the shirt too, Harry can say with some certainty that  _ excited  _ takes on a new connotation, one that feels like a reminder of last night, centred between his legs. Louis swiftly unzips his jeans in a quick motion, and shakes out of the dripping material, and now he's in black underwear, and,  _ oh,  _ now he's not, because he's reached back to take off his boxers, and Harry’s eyes soak in the damp skin and exposed figure. Louis' body spends much of its time hidden under clothes, so this is very  _ different,  _ for Harry. Louis reaches forwards to grab a thin shirt off of his bed.

Harry doesn’t realize he's gasped, until Louis freezes, for the briefest of seconds, before pulling his shirt all the way down and slipping into a stray pair of sweatpants. Harry feels slightly embarrassed and slightly exposed but mostly really turned on, and really drawn to Louis, so when Louis turns to look, he remains standing in the doorway.

He steps into the room, hesitantly.

He doesn’t look anywhere but Louis' face. Louis looks cold in only a thin layer of fabric, and also far too arousing, so Harry instinctively pulls himself out of Louis' comfort hoodie, and steps closer, placing it in his hands.

When Louis silently slips into it, it feels more intimate than just regular clothes sharing. Maybe because Harry’s body heat is still very much trapped into the hoodie, or maybe because of all the undressing that’s been happening. Harry doesn’t care why.

“We should talk, shouldn’t we.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the things!


	12. Part 12: Nick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry instinctively pulls himself out of Louis’ comfort hoodie, and steps closer, placing it in his hands.  
> When Louis silently slips into it, it feels more intimate than just regular clothes sharing. Maybe because Harry’s body heat is still very much trapped into the hoodie, or maybe because of all the undressing that’s been happening. Harry doesn’t care why.  
> “We should talk, shouldn’t we.”

“We should talk, shouldn’t we,” Harry feels his own mouth speak.

Louis nods. A deep sound of thunder rips through the air, making Harry flinch a gasp, and Louis moves to close the door, and shut his blinds, the night behind which is black already. He ushers a slightly thrown-off Harry to his bed in the corner of his room.

They sit, slightly facing each other, Louis sitting against the headboard and Harry curled, knees to his chest, against the wall. Louis continues to say nothing.

Okay. That’s fine. Harry thinks he should start, anyway. It was him who started this. Okay. He takes a breath.

“So, I mean, if you have anything to say about anything at any point, then, that’s great, but other than that, can I – um, I’m going to start by saying that I spoke to Liam, I mean, what choice does one have with that boy.” He looks at Louis, who looks mildly puzzled at the fact, so he hurries to explain. “I wasn’t sure what the appropriate course of action would be, when you find out you might possibly really like kissing your best friend,” he blushes, “so I went to him, I mean, but I felt weird… I didn’t tell him, about. You know. Just… like, in theory type talk?” He looks at Louis. Louis nods, and Harry realizes he has yet to hear his voice. “Okay, good. Um, so, Liam and I came to a conclusion that I should try and get to know myself, you know, before considering anything as significant as you – not that I’m assuming you and me are a thing,” Harry rushes, his hands reaching out in vague defence, “or might be a thing, or anything, that takes two, I mean, I’m just saying on  _ my  _ part…”

Harry is stumbling over his words more frantically now, losing his nerve quickly, and another breaking thunder certainly doesn’t help, and Louis reaches out to grip securely at Harry’s restless wrist. He stills, and calms under the cold pressure.

Louis speaks.

“Harry. Are you okay?” He waits for the small nod, before continuing. “Okay. I agree with Liam. I think that you’re possibly going through a transition, and this is all new and great and everything. But it doesn’t have to be done with me.” Harry frowns. “I don’t mean that I don’t want anything, I’m just saying that there would be a lot on the line if I did, and so maybe it’s better to know whether you do, before I consider anything of the sort.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees with a firmer nod. He hesitates for a while, but differently, more purposefully, as if looking for words. “But just so you know, Louis, and I’m trying to not imply too much, but I’m not ‘experimenting’ with you because I want to experiment with boys.” He looks Louis in the eye, for the first time, and it is earnest. “It would seem that the other way around is more applicable. So, when you say all that about you being a convenience, I feel kind of shitty about it. I’m just putting that out there. I will try what Liam has said to do; I just wanted to set that one thing straight.” Or not straight, at all; void of any straight feels, Harry notes.

Louis is silent for a length of time, before uttering a single “okay.”

Okay? Okay.

Okay?

But… Well, okay.

“Is there anything you wanted to say?” Harry checks. Louis shakes his head. “Okay… Can I… ask a question?” Louis nods. Why is he so silent? Harry fiddles with his sleeve. It is times like these that he wishes bluntness was an okay thing. “Last night… I don’t know, I don’t want to ask too much,” he mumbles, “but I’m not entirely convinced that it couldn’t be blamed on sleep deprivation and surprise on your part, so…” he gestures awkwardly, hoping for Louis to work off that, but Louis remains silent, waiting. Harry feels stupid. “Like, if you were going to describe it in one word, or something…” he gestures, aware of the embarrassment burning in his cheeks.

Louis considers, because that is a loaded, and careful question, and then hesitates, because he doesn’t want to answer too much either. “Different. Kind of a lot.” He hesitates some more, chewing on his lip. Because really, how much can he be giving away, at this point? Harry was there. “Intimate?”

Harry nods his curls, jaggedly, kind of relieved that ‘a mistake’ and ‘alright’ weren’t on the list, and pretty content that he agrees with the selection.

And also, yes. Intimate. Harry feels his chest pounding.

They sit in silence for a little bit, waiting through a bout of thunder and lightning, that doesn’t make Harry feel confident about his next words  _ at all. _

“I, umm, should go, and process.” He throws the window a glance of resent and a little bit of fear.

“Yeah, sure, do you – do you want a ride, Harry?” asks Louis, despite the presence of Harry’s stepdad’s white van parked just down the road.

“No, it’s okay, I can’t leave my car here. Thanks though.” Louis smiles back as if to say ‘sure thing, anytime.’ “Hey, um…” Harry starts uncertainly, biting his lip and fidgeting with his sleeve. “Could I – do you think it might be okay if…” he sighs, blushing. “Can I kiss your cheek, Louis?”

Louis looks up at him a little surprised, and maybe even blushing back a little, arching his shoulders back as if bending to a shiver, and then casts his eyes down as he gives a small nod. Harry takes a slightly deeper breath, holding it shakily, as he leans into Louis innocently, not taking too long because he isn’t sure he can resist any more tension, and brings his face to Louis'. He pauses slightly, inhaling the slight scent of a pink cheek, letting adrenaline and nerves shoot down his chest, before nuzzling in, and pressing tingly lips into warm softness. It doesn’t last long, but when Harry moves away with a soft smooching sound, a fast pumping heartbeat in his ears doesn’t surprise him.

Harry hurriedly leaves Louis' side, collects a few possessions, and makes a run for his car.

…

Harry fiddles with his keys, at the ignition.

He needs to figure himself out,  _ quickly.  _ He likens the urgency, if crudely, to the imminent need for a bathroom, with no immediately available toilet.

And it’s not because he himself wants it. He can’t focus on many sideline wants these days, courtesy of Louis Tomlinson.

The engine roars to life.

And he doesn’t know how figuring himself out would let him kiss Louis some more – there is no logical link there. But that’s what Harry feels like.

Just figure it out, and then you can kiss Louis all the time move forward, _ move forward,  _ Harry.

Except that there really is  _ no  _ metaphorical toilet.

_ Where _ is all this rain coming from?! Harry flips on the windshield wipers.

How does one get in a position where they are kissing boys? Boys that are not Louis. Because obviously the trick with Louis is Sleepy Louis.

When in doubt, Harry thinks, text Liam. He hesitates a little, because reasons, and he still feels an uncomfortable pull in his stomach when he opens their back-and-forth, but he sends it anyway, because he is  _ not  _ driving while this amount of water is flooding his car.

_ You, Friday, 7:23 PM _ _ : _

_ How am I meant to experiment when I don’t know how to flirt, and boys don’t flirt with me?! _

_ Liam, Friday, 7:25 PM _ _ : _

_ Wow, that escalated quickly; umm, gay bar on the radar? _

Harry texts him a displeased selfie.

_ Liam, Friday, 7:26 PM _ _ : _

_ Right, okay. _

_ You, Friday, 7:27 PM _ _ : _

_? _

_ Liam, Friday, 7:29 PM _ _ : _

_ Well, unless you want to exploit your gay acquaintances (which actually you should look into because I know a few of them would pounce at first chance), call me when you’re desperate enough for a gay bar. _

Gay bar. Harry cringes at the cliché. It sounds stuffy and crowded and not useful at all.

On the other hand, the anonymity of it, at least when compared to some sort of dating site, is a comforting aspect. Harry shifts in his seat, putting the car back into silence with another turn of the key.

And Liam would come with him...

He decides to consider.

…

He decides to, but on his hurried way to Music practice that night, a flier on the pinboard catches his eye.

…

Later that night, snuggled in bed with a hot mug of tea, he finally takes the time to study it.

_____

STUDENT FILM: ACTORS WANTED

Genre: Artsy

 Male: four scenes; supporting role. (Very short) kissing scene involved.

 Female: most scenes; starring role. We would appreciate a fun someone who can dedicate! (Very short) kissing scene involved.

 Female: one scene; minor role. Someone who can pull a boss horrified grimace and is willing to get a little sticky – gory costume, fake blood, etc. Good fun though! (Not a horror movie – partly set in a horror house.)

For more details or audition inquiry, email Jake at OurFilm23@email.com! Otherwise, general auditions at 12:30 PM this Saturday, Room 17, Art Block! Map attached. See you there :)

_____

Very short kissing scene? It’s obviously a heterosexual scene, Harry acknowledges. But he has to start somewhere, right?

Besides, artsy student film? That sounds gay-friendly to the extreme.

Harry checks his phone calendar for 12:30 PM this Saturday. He’s free.

…

They love him.

He shows up, uncharacteristically an hour early, to find a loud, friendly group of film, theatre, and art students, along with one stray economics freshman, and what does he do?

Trips. He trips over a bunch of techy chords. That have a fluorescent Watch Out note taped on them. Talk about a ceremonious entrance.

It sends them laughing hysterically, though, and after he stops blushing furiously, Harry finds that he likes these people. They’re friendly, quirky, if a little overly hip, and involve him wholeheartedly into the preparations.

There are a bunch of them, some of which seem to be completely unnecessary for auditions and are hanging around just for the company, which Harry thinks is sweet.

As he is separating a heap of script prints into three piles, one for each role, two boys and a tall girl approach him, clearly in charge of hair and makeup, to talk to him about the costume of “his character.” He hasn’t even auditioned yet, Harry wants to say, but doesn’t, because the taller boy has a small rainbow anklet, and a jacket that looks like Louis'. He has a large black quiff, with attractive features and a cheeky smile. They stick around, after explaining his costume. Maybe they’ve interpreted his sudden shyness as nerves.

“So, who am I auditioning opposite?”

“Oh,” the black-haired boy chuckles, “Your stage girlfriend hasn’t been cast yet, so you’ll run lines with Lottie,” he points to the director, who is a senior and seems in charge. “But if you make the cut they might get you to run through with the ‘Hannah’ shortlist – that’s your boo. Hannah might be harder to cast,” the boy winks.

Is he implying that he will be easy to cast?

Because if he is, then certainly that counts as flirting, right? Harry fumbles a bit.

“I’m Nick, by the way,” the boy smiles.

Harry smiles back.

…

For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t fall asleep thinking of Louis.

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank for all the things!


	13. Part 13: Three Kisses and a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: UMMM IT’S 1:11 MAKE A WISH
> 
> Hello! I’ve been extra busy, disgustingly so, so I apologize for the less frequent updates - part 14 this weekend, I’m aiming :) Thanks, possessors of patience!
> 
> Larry AU, SFW, 1,900 words. Has never to my knowledge actually occurred in this current universe. Bummer. Enjoy!

_[Basically, Harry tries out for a student film. I have apparently not stated this anywhere in the chapter explicitly enough to quote.]_

Harry gets the role.

They tell him unofficially after auditions disassemble. Harry smiles. Nick winks. Harry fumbles.

The role of ‘his boo’ takes a bit more work, and Harry is called in to run lines with three best candidates the following Wednesday night.

Nick is there. He’s a bit of a player, Harry notices. It shows in his cockiness.

The three girls are all okay, they can act, and they’re pretty good looking, Harry thinks half-heartedly. But it comes sooner than expected, when he is instructed to kiss.

He hadn’t prepared yet, but Lottie wanted to see their chemistry, or something, so Harry shrugs and blushes and complies. It’s a good thing his character is shy.

The first kiss is awkward. Uncomfortably so. Harry feels exposed, and like everyone is watching, which they are, but there are only three or four people, and Nick has gone to get coffee or something, and Harry worries that he can’t pull off this scene.

He doesn’t like it. The kiss. It’s too much tongue, it doesn’t taste good even though it is a rather neutral taste. The softness of the girl’s face makes any kind of fantasy or wishful thinking impossible, because Louis is rugged and tastes like he smells. But that’s too weird, anyway.

They give him a few minutes after the scene, to sip on a drink and chat with everyone. The room is empty, the next time, and there is probably a camera running, but Harry doesn’t know where and it feels more personal. This girl is younger, and seems sweet. Brianna. He’s met her before, she’s in his Art class, and does pretty well. He likes her. She smiles at him and makes a cute joke and eases the awkwardness. She has blue eyes.

She’s probably a good kisser, Harry judges when none of her moves put him off. It’s softer, polite.

He doesn’t feel anything.

The third girl, Sophia, is probably the most attractive out of the three. Harry doesn’t like her cocky attitude, and her kissing wasn’t appalling, but it was uncomfortable. He hopes they don’t pick her.

…

They do.

Brianna was the better actress, they tell him, and looked more natural with him, but he was too young, too innocent-looking.

After practicing with her a few times, Harry gets kind of used to Sophia, and the kissing scene is less awkward after a while, but he still dreads it.

Nick seems to know. Is gaydar a thing? He kind of wants to say that yes, he’s a boy kisser, when Nick makes eyes at hi over the drinks table, but he doesn’t know if he can. Is one girl, and in fact one kiss, enough to be able to say that?

Nick makes him nervous.

Which could be because he wants to kiss him.

But does he want to kiss him because he  _ wants  _ to, or because he wants to try kissing a boy who isn’t Louis?

The second one is definitely true, that much is a given. He remains uncertain about the first.

But Nick definitely makes him nervous.

…

That is, Harry  _ thinks  _ Nick makes him nervous. Until the weekend comes, and some random party happens, to which Louis drags them because he is feeling feisty and restless and doesn’t want to stay in another night.

Louis.

Fuck.

Fucking fuckfield of fucks.

Louis looks… really  _ fucking _ good. Harry almost chokes on his pre-party water when Louis walks out of his room wearing tight black skinnies, a white button-up with a tight black cardigan over it and a loose tie, one of those ones that’s just a narrow piece of fabric, and sleek grey sneakers.

Fucking how?

Maybe it’s his hair. Did he cut it? It looks different, shorter in the back. Cute.

Maybe it’s because his cardigan is tailored. It accents his hips, Harry thinks when Louis walks past him.

Oh no. Oh fuck. Louis  _ walked past _ him. Fuck.His ass looks…  _ fuck. _

Liam clears his throat and whispers “Get it together, girl,” with amusement hidden in warning, before walking out as well.

Blocking Louis’s back from view, the asshole.

Okay, alright, so maybe Harry shouldn’t stare so blatantly. But how can he not, really? He shakes out his arms and shoulders in a quick motion, internally face-palms at it, and follows the two outside.

…

They get a cab, because screw designated drivers, and Harry sits in the front in an effort to not alert Louis of his, ahem, loud thoughts, but then he is  _ right there  _ in the mirror, and the ride is so long, that Harry resorts to texting Liam for distraction.

_ You: Friday 09:32 PM _

_ IS HE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE _

_ Liam: Friday 09:33 PM _

_ What, existing? _

_ You: Friday 09:35 PM _

Does he always look like this for random parties??

_ Liam: Friday 09: 42 PM _

_ Hello, did you miss the last five years of boys swooning over him? _

_ You: Friday 09: 45 PM _

_ If by ‘miss’ you mean I wasn’t one of them, then yes, I fucking missed it. _

They’ve arrived now, and whatever snarky comment Liam had been typing doesn’t get sent.

Harry makes sure Louis leaves the cab before him.

…

He definitely cut his hair; it’s styled differently. It’s tousled in the back, and the ends of his hair are brushed forwards, curving to frame his face. His bangs are shorter too. It looks really fucking cute.

What isn’t cute is the laugh of that boy on his arm. It’s too high and too loud. How can Louis look so flirty with that laugh right by his ear?

Obviously he can, because now he is leading the boy to dance. Does he know this boy?

Oh great, and now they are dancing. Together. They are dancing very together. They have 100% met before.

_ Fuck,  _ Louis looks good. He’s discarded the cardigan, and now the sleeves of his white button-up are rolled up to his elbows, and the top few buttons are popped open under his tie, allowing the collar to messily expose some collarbone under his tie, -

“An ex?” a male voice asks sympathetically. Harry turns around to face a thin, tall boy with dark pixie hair, sporting a leather jacket, tight dark-green skinnies rolled to mid-calf length, and tattered black Doc Martens boots. With a sharp jaw and prominent cheekbones, he is quite attractive.

Sexy, even. Harry raises his eyebrows at himself.

“Um, no,” Harry rolls his eyes at himself. “A friend.”

The boy nods, and scrunches his nose in understanding.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Hi, Harry,” the boy husks. “Josh.”

…

It isn’t along chitchat later when Josh leads him away from the crowd, onto a chilly, airy balcony at the back of the apartment.

And when they kiss, it isn’t awkward, or forced, or boring, or any of the things that kissing girls had been. It’s a good kiss. It’s nice, a little sexy, a little exciting. Distinctly not Louis, but still enjoyable. Fun. Josh smells good and his lips feel natural, against Harry’s. Unforced. 

It is Louis’s lips, that he is comparing Josh’s to, when suddenly the nearing sound of Louis’s voice shocks him, and he flinches away.

What?

“Oh, bro, sorry,” Louis apologizes, staring in shock and a little bit of what looks like hurt. The boy from before is behind him, looking disappointed, and Louis ushers him to back out, before exiting himself, with a final glance to Harry.

Harry remains in shock for a moment, until Josh’s breath on his face distracts him. They are still quite close, and Harry worries for a second that Josh is going to kiss him, because that’s what any girl he’s been with would have done, but Josh just looks in his eyes, lips swollen and eyebrows raised, and asks, “Need to go?” Harry nods quickly. Josh leans away with a nod of understanding, moving away for Harry to rush out.

What the hell just happened?

Harry spends the rest of the night in a weird daze, and bails early, despite the fact that he hadn’t gotten to see Louis.

…

He doesn’t call him until the next morning, because he doesn’t particularly… want to know if Louis is busy, probably. The thought of that annoying boy, spending the night with Louis… he felt betrayed, almost; vulnerable at the thought of the intimacy of a few nights earlier, shattering at the shrill loud laugh of some random boy.

He sighs into his phone. “Why do I feel like I need to apologize, when this was your idea?”

“You don’t need to apologize, Harry, it was all according to plan. I’m not angry or anything, don’t stress.” Louis does sound okay. Harry isn’t sure that’s a good thing. “Any revelations, though?” he inquires hesitantly.

“I preferred it to girls,” Harry answers truthfully.

“Oh,” Louis pauses. “Okay. And how do you feel?”

“Kinda scared. I guess. Confused?”

“Yeah, I can imagine. You wanna meet up?”

“Yeah, um, yes, thanks, that would be good. I’ve got the last meetups for the movie these next few of days though. Are you free tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. Wait, are you going to be able to make that dinner Thursday?”

What?

“Huh?”

“The dinner? That I helped organize, you said you’d come too? That’s okay, don’t worry abo-“

“ _ Oh _ , for the LGBTQ rights campaign?” Harry chuckles. “I was wondering why my Thursday had ‘GAY’ written on it in huge purple letters!” he hears Louis laugh on the other line, before rushing to continue. “Yeah, bro, of course I’ll go. Are you speaking?”

“I don’t know yet, they said I don’t have to, but they might ask me to say something tomorrow. You don’t need to go, if you’re busy, though.”

“No, I should be fine by – when is it, eight?” Louis hums in agreement. “Yeah. Oh - dress code?”

“Um, good question.  Stylish casual, I guess?”

“Okay, see you there definitely. So, Lou?” Louis hums. “You’re sure we’re okay, about last night?”

“Yeah man, totally. Why?” Louis asks, and Harry isn’t sure if the casualness is feigned.

“No nothing, you just looked… I don’t know – surprised, actually, which – yeah, nevermind, that’s expected,” Harry rambles, though he knows the look on Louis’s face wasn’t just surprise.

“I suggested you kiss other boys. That doesn’t mean I like it, Harry.”

What does that even mean? Even over the phone, it gives Harry chest flutters.

He vaguely wonders if this is the time to start calling it butterflies.

…

How  _ do  _ I feel, Harry asks himself, thinking back to Louis’s question.

The kiss was… yeah, he liked it. That’s not really the source of confusion, though, is it?

He didn’t like it anywhere  _ near  _ the way he liked kissing Louis. Even just kissing Louis’s face ( _ thinking  _ about kissing his face, Harry notes) gives Harry more feels than last night.

But was he really expecting that kissing a stranger would be… so intimate, so consuming, so much?

So addicting?

No, no he didn’t.

So what now?

Work, now. Harry spends the day trying really hard not to keep remembering the way thin lips felt pressed against his own, and the heat of Louis’s soft cheek under his fingers, when he had kissed his best friend in the shared haze of a sober night.

And continuously getting flustered when he failed.

__  
….  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A breather from the intense, this one. Thank you for all the things!!


	14. Part 14: A Thing we Do(n’t)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry AU, SFW-ish, 3,600 words. Lies and slander, all of it.

_ “I preferred it to girls,” Harry answers truthfully. _

_ “Oh,” Louis pauses. “Okay. And how do you feel?” _

_ “Kinda scared. I guess. Confused?” _

_ “Yeah, I can imagine. You wanna meet up?” _

… 

Harry swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, standing awkwardly in the hallway of Louis and Liam’s apartment, jumping slightly to the staccato sounds of Louis, rummaging in the kitchen.

Why is he suddenly so nervous?

He whimpers, when a loud thunder makes him flinch, and suddenly the urge to awkwardly hide from Louis is overshadowed by a wave of frightened need, to hang on to his arm and let a gentle rub on his back steady him.

It helps a little, when they establish, in an unspoken agreement, that this conversation is going to be had in Louis' room. Despite the fact that Liam is somewhere that isn’t home, and Louis' room is pretty small, and thusly rarely the location of their hangouts. But Harry likes it here, when it’s storming outside – there is only a fairly small window, with solid blinds, and so feels a lot more secluded than the spacy, windowed living room, and so they curl up on Louis' king single bed, cushioned into comfort. Harry breathes steadily, looking absently at the ripples trembling on the fragile surface of the steaming drink gripped between both his hands. Hot lemonade with honey; Harry’s favourite comfort drink. Louis makes it well.

So it’s okay. He’s okay. Things are a little weird – but only a little, and even that is gradually dispersed, by Louis' calm chatter and soft giggle and slightly fiddly hands, that dance to the fluid sound of his voice.  Harry’s drink no longer trembles, by the time the conversation gets to the point.

“So,” Louis begins, patting a hand on Harry’s knee in preparatory reassurance. “How are you? With everything.”

“Um,” Harry chuckles. “Yeah, good.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Last I checked, ‘good’ was not a synonym of ‘confused’ and ‘scared’,” he notes lightly.

“Yeah, I mean, the confused and scared was mainly just a vague thought. But I am good with that vague thought. You know?” His eyes meet Louis'. “I’m just not sure where I go from here.”

“Label-wise?”

Harry nods. He nods, but then bites his lip and glances somewhat guiltily at Louis, because label-wise is only the lesser of two wises.

Louis shrugs. “Labels aren’t important.”

Harry frowns. “Wait, but, I thought that’s what you and Liam wanted?” he looks to Louis in confusion. “For me to figure it out?”

“Um.” Louis stumbles. “Well, yeah, to figure out if you like boys and stuff and things. Not to figure out what word to attach to it. Liking boys doesn’t make you gay. There is a plethora of lovely words to pick from. Or not pick from.”

Harry considers.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I like boys.”

Louis sits in silence for a while, motionless.

“Okay,” he nods, his voice sounding slightly hoarse.

“And, I’m okay with that,” Harry says awkwardly; almost expectantly.

“Good.”

“And, um, as I recall, we were wanting that to be for sure before we considered, maybe, the other things,” Harry implies. Hints, even.

“Yes,” Louis agrees cautiously. Hints avoided.

“So. Um. It’s for sure…” Harry tries again.

Louis hums in agreement.

“I’m considering the other things,” Harry admits.

Louis only nods.

“Okay, Louis, I feel like I’m talking to myself. Can you please talk to me?” Harry pleads, feeling his hands – and voice – beginning to shake again.

Louis contemplates for a few moments. “Keep me updated on your findings?”

“Okay… Um,” he swallows. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, Louis. Are you planning any considerations?”

“I think it… might be better if you consider first.”

Harry wants to ask for the directions to the universe in which that is fair, but Louis looks a little bit forlorn, and very much cute, and Harry doesn’t know if he could even utter the words, so he doesn’t.

“Okay. Fine. Sure. I will.”

Louis seems to recognize his resigned frustration, though, and so continues. “I… let’s just, take some time, okay? And really, really make sure that this doesn’t end in tears. Both of us.”

“Yeah, okay. Um, what kind of time?”

Louis pauses. “Like, platonic time.”

“Oh – right, okay. Sure, of course.” Harry can’t help but feel a little disappointed, despite the very reasonable – and expected – request. They sit in awkward silence – for a little too long.

Not enough things have been said here, Harry thinks. But he doesn’t say them. He stutters awkwardly instead. “So… What’s new?”

…

“She did  _ not! _ ” Harry exclaims in amused shock.

“I’m serious! Here,” Louis offers his shoulder to Harry, nodding him closer. Harry leans in, laughing, battling a burning rush in his chest, and buries his nose in a hooded left shoulder. But Louis is quite far away, and Harry’s hands automatically reach out to rest on his right shoulder and left bicep, partly to steady himself and partly to guide Louis closer. He inhales a few times through small giggles.

“I smell nothing, Louis!” he demands, leaning back to meet his eyes, his hands still on Louis and even though he can feel it getting awkward, they seem stuck on him, and the thumb of his left hand is resting lightly on the skin of Louis' collarbone and Louis looks so soft and snuggly in his thick hoodie, and a newly familiar rush of warmth floods Harry’s chest, and he almost can’t help it when he impulsively lowers his face back, this time further up, into the warm crevice between Louis' neck and the hooded folds of his hoodie. He doesn’t touch, not yet, but Louis' breath has already caught in his throat, and when Harry sinks full lips into the soft skin over his collarbone, Louis shivers.

The feeling of skin on his lips sends Harry into a stabbing rush of panic, snapping him out of whatever haze this is, because this happened once, and didn’t end very well; and so this time when Louis breathes out “Harry, don’t,” Harry inhales Louis' scent deeply, and moves away.

But Louis' warning was low and husky, and his chest is raising and falling heavily, and when his eyes, suddenly dark with want, meet Harry’s in a brief moment of silent communication, Harry knows this time is different.

He isn’t surprised, when Louis' lips come crashing onto his own.

This kiss is different, from their first kiss. The soft warmth is there, but it is hungrier, faster, and spurred by Louis. The outburst of passion takes Harry aback, a bit, and both his hands fly up to curl softly on the skin next to Louis' mouth, in a gesture of innocence that Harry seems to be developing a habit of. The light reminder of a touch seems to slow Louis just slightly, and Harry has time to notice that his small hands are grappling at the sheets on either side of Harry’s hips, seemingly in a fervent struggle with themselves not to grab him. Harry’s heart thuds in his chest at the realization, and he moves his hands from Louis' face to reach for the small fists, before abruptly realizing that now, nothing is anchoring them together aside from their lips; his hands fly back to Louis' shoulders, gliding instead along Louis' arms, keeping them close, until they come to rest around tight fists.

He leaves his hands resting gently on Louis', waiting for them to relax under his touch, reassuring Louis with the softest, shyest lick at his bottom lip. He maintains contact as they move to his hips; not guiding, or directing, but giving gentle approval.

Louis' hands can’t contain themselves for long, and Harry gasps into a feverish mouth as they wrap possessively around his waist, pressing their bodies tightly against each other.

This is different.

There is so  _ much. _

Even as Harry’s hand responds in kind, flying to grip into Louis' thick locks, and his other one grips and pulls in the shoulder of a hoodie, Harry is painfully aware that there is a thigh between his own, and his own between Louis', and that both are only a small gap away from where they are wanted, and really only because their hips are pushed so tightly against each other. And he can sense that Louis is struggling, his breath ragged, and body tense, in what seems to be an effort not to push Harry against the wall and take him.

He wants to lower his hands and calm them on Louis' shoulders, and steady him, because it pains him to see Louis struggle, but he doesn’t and  _ can’t  _ because he wants Louis closer, everywhere, so his hands pull Louis tighter to him, one in his hair and the other around his shoulders – and still, it is not enough, and he wants  _ more  _ Louis.

Somehow, his hands manage to squeeze through their bodies to the bottom hem of Louis' hoodie, and slip inside, finding skin so overheated that his hands must feel freezing against it. Louis gasps into his mouth at the contact, and Harry almost moans and slips his hands further because that hoodie is too thick and it really needs to go, but manages to contain himself and wait, with trembling cold fingertips pressed against smooth skin, for permission.

Louis seems to yank himself out of the frenzy slightly, at the sound of his own gasp, and his kisses feel more controlled now, less aggressive but equally hungry, as he mumbles Harry’s name into his mouth in what sounds like a gentle warning. But the move sends Harry reeling, and his hands slip instinctively further, cut short only when Louis' grip comes flying down to stop them in their tracks.

But the kiss isn’t slowed.

Louis leans more heavily into Harry to make up for the absence of his grip, and Harry hisses when teeth pinch his lower lip. “ _ Louis _ ,” he pants, pleadingly. His fingers fiddle underneath Louis' tightening grip until they manage to separate the soft shirt material from the heavy hoodie. Louis seems to understand the desperate plea, and relents, guiding Harry’s wanton but suddenly nervous hands further, slowly, between the two layers of clothing.

Louis takes advantage of the hesitation to take Harry’s waist and bring him around, so that his own back is to the wall. It is as if he is trying to moderate the result of his imminent loss of control, Harry thinks. It’s very Louis.

The gesture is reassuring, placing executive control in his hands, and Louis' kisses are gentler now, patient, so Harry gives himself time, to touch and to feel and to experience. His hands smooth over the soft fabric clothing Louis' sides, and the contact is warm, and soft, and distinctly more intimate. He presses softly closer into Louis, but tentatively, not pressing their bodies together tightly like before.

Louis tastes. Harry doesn’t know what of, but it is definitely a distinct taste. He tastes the way you would expect when you smelled his scent, if you were the kind of person who thinks to predict these things.

Louis' lips are remarkably kissable, and warm and soft but passionate, and his tongue is strong and not strong and there and not there and unpredictable and surprising; and fickle, it is a fickle thing. But when Louis' hands grip suddenly tighter into his hair, and Harry opens his mouth wider in response, and Louis' tongue pushes past his lips, Harry is surprised at how immediately arousing it is, because he doesn’t remember ever liking tongue, and Louis just feel so  _ good,  _ like every flick of tongue and touch of hands sends Harry’s mind reeling. His poor bewildered heart rushes on, even as the fickle tongue retreats with a single intimate flick against his own.

His hands seem to have gained enough confidence now, so his arms smooth to wrap around Louis' waist, and without the thick hoodie barrier Harry is suddenly overwhelmed by how much Louis is a  _ boy.  _ In the thin white shirt, he feels small and soft but rugged in Harry’s arms, and he tastes like a boy and smells like a boy and  _ is breathing  _ like a boy and his gentle hands in Harry’s hair are definitely a boy’s hands.

And then those hands slide down, and slender arms wrap around his waist, and a hand presses between arching shoulder blades, and they pull to hold him closer against a masculine body.. A hand glides up Louis' stomach, in a move so instinctive that Harry is  _ shocked,  _ when a whimper of surprise vibrates against his mouth and his palm smooths over a nipple, straining through thin material, and presses slightly into the tender flesh, and it is intimate and arousing and  _ fuck.  _ Louis whimpers a high-pitched moan, completely taken aback, and arches into him, and Harry arches back, and Harry is so  _ overwhelmed _ , that he can’t even run away anymore, and so in a chaos of shock and fear and  _ arousal, _ Harry’s hips twitch into Louis and he whimpers, and Louis moans in surprise and is pressed against the wall as Harry’s hips ride involuntarily into Louis again. Harry drops his head against Louis' shoulder and  _ moans _ , because this is the first time a tightness between his legs has been physically agitated, and it has rendered him completely helpless in trying not to rub himself against Louis' thigh. He is panting too hard now for kissing, but Louis' mouth hunts down his neck, and  _ fuck,  _ apparently that is a sensitive area now because Harry whimpers, and strains, helpless on top of Louis' thigh, and his hands fist into Louis' shirt, just for something to hold on to. He rolls his hips into Louis, prompting a strangled moan against his neck which might have sent his hips bucking again, were Louis' hands not holding his hips securely to him, so closely that only the smallest pushes were possible.

Harry falls apart, completely and helplessly on top of Louis, because Louis is still sucking and licking at him neck and softly moaning into his skin, far too close to his ear, raising goosebumps everywhere, and Harry blushes hard at the unfamiliar sounds of his own helpless whimpers and moans, regretting now that the hoodie isn’t here to muffle them.

The consistent, barely rubbing pressure of Louis' thigh between his legs shouldn’t be enough, but all of his senses are so overloaded with Louis that Harry feels himself tense and his abdomen curls, and a hand comes flying up to palm at Louis' nipples again as he strangles a moan into the overheated skin of Louis' neck, and presses tighter and tenses more, and his breath catches, and he strains and gasps and  _ shivers,  _ panting a whimper, as a jolt of pleasure pulsates up his core; and then another, and another. Harry moans in relief as he feels his entire body release.

Louis, however, freezes under him.

Harry comes down, quicker than he should need to, bewildered and scared and embarrassed, and hides further into Louis, panting shallow, broken breaths and trembling slightly.

“Did you just…?” Louis sounds shocked, and breathless, and something else, something that Harry would normally think sounds like arousal.

This would be the point at which Harry runs away in shame, if he weren’t too embarrassed to lift his head and have to be looked at. But he is, and so he hides his face in his hands, and his whole being into Louis' shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his mind it strikes him as odd that even now, even when he wants to hide from Louis, it is Louis' body that he hides into.

“Harry?” Louis' hands slide to steady Harry’s hips, in a futile attempt to communicate, but even though Harry can read only lust and surprise and oncoming alarm in his voice, he curls up tighter and shakes his head stiffly into Louis.

“Hey, Haz, it’s okay, talk to me,” Louis mumbles gently, still trying to move Harry away and look at him, but when the frazzled boy grips at his shirt, Louis relents and wraps gentle arms around a slightly shaky frame. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s alright. You know it’s okay, right?” he murmurs. 

“So we fucked up our plan a little bit, but we fucked it up together, right? Shhh, don’t worry,” Louis hums.

Harry calms oddly quickly at the soothing words, even if their content doesn’t quite translate, and resorts to breathing into Louis, letting small hands rub his back and stroke his hair.

Louis says nothing, and holds him and waits, still breathing heavily, for Harry to be ready. After a while, a small phrase gets mumbled into him.

“I’m sorry…”

Louis frowns. “No, you don’t need to – what are you sorry for, Haz?” Harry shakes his head. “Oh…” Louis sounds vulnerable. Why does he sound so vulnerable? Harry hates it. “Are you just sorry? About the whole thing?” Another shake.

“For… leading me on?”

Shake.

“Because you regret it?”

A shake; a hidden sigh of relief.

A long pause, a shy question. “Because… is it because I’m a boy?” An instinctive nod, a clarifying shake; a tighter grip.

A small confession muffled into camouflage.

“I liked it…”

“You liked that I’m a boy?” A small nod. “Oh…”

Another long pause, and an even smaller question.

“…Is it because you liked it?” A hesitant nod of implication.

Arms that wrap tighter, instinctively, before the question, almost whispered.

“Oh… Because you came?”

A red face that buries deeper into hands, into Louis' chest, and a small groan of embarrassment, until Louis' hands are soothing again on a tense back, and gentle words of reassurance are hummed.

“Aw, no, Harry, hey, that’s okay, that’s fine, don’t… don’t be embarrassed, seriously, if anything I’m sorry for letting it get so out of control, and overwhelming you, probably, that was too much – but you don’t have anything to be ashamed of, baby…” Louis tries to somehow get Harry’s face to unbury, but sees that it is futile, and sighs, resorting finally to leaning down into Harry’s hair, and admitting in a low tone, “Harry, frankly, that was really fucking hot, and I nearly got off just feeling it happen, so will you please just – okay, hi, hello!” Louis chuckles at rattled green eyes staring up at him bewilderedly from above reddened cheeks, painfully embarrassed.

Louis takes the flustered face in his hands, chuckling still in fondness. “I’m not going to kiss you, because I’m not, but if that were a thing that we do, then  _ insert smooch here _ , because you are really fucking adorable right now.” Harry somehow finds it in him to blush even more. “Stop that. We’ve fucked up enough for one night.” He looks into green eyes pointedly. “You are  _ fine.  _ Seriously. Stop it.”

“But what if it  _ were  _ a thing that we do?” Harry pouts slightly, distracted from his embarrassment by the possibility of a kiss.

Louis chuckles. “But it’s not.”

“Well can you just demonstrate, then?” Louis chuckles again, unrelenting. “If I asked really nicely?” Louis shakes his head with a cheeky smirk. Harry pouts out his bottom lip.

“Stop that,” Louis demands, resting the tip of his thumb on a pouting pink lip.

“Make me,” Harry pleads, and Louis looks frustrated now, restless, but Harry doesn’t think he can give in anymore, not when it’s a chance. Louis shakes his head with a sigh and leans in, unceremoniously pressing his mouth to Harry’s.

He means to make it quick and meaningless, but then lingers, because long fingers curl into the hair framing his face, eagerly keeping him close, and hot lips are so relentlessly kissable, and they feel  _ right _ . The feel like they fucking want him, if he’s honest. So he breaks away, because it’s too real now, and they aren’t real, so that sounds like a bad idea. Harry huffs a little, but relents, and doesn’t protest when Louis stands up.

As soon as he moves away, Harry’s mind flashes involuntarily with the feeling of soft flesh under his hand, and his embarrassment comes rushing back. He tries not to look, he really does, but the racing of his heart is definitely visible, because Louis blushes and fumbles back into his hoodie, and Harry is glad when he mumbles something about the bathroom and rushes out of the room, because he wants to die right now.

…

Louis shuts the bathroom door with a hasty nudge of his foot, twisting the tap to open a strong stream of cold water, immediately splashing it onto his overheated face.

He leans with his hands on the sink, breathing deeply, trying to compose himself. Darkened blue eyes meet their reflection, reading in it their own bewildered, sparkling disbelief.

What the fuck?

What the  _ actual fuck? _

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stuff!


	15. Part 15: Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: DELAY = MINIMAL
> 
> It’s 2 AM, feel special! (Not really, I never sleep. But you are still special! I could be contemplating the idiocy of flesh-colored bandaid selections at the local pharmacy right now. Did you know that apparently selling only one shade is completely acceptable?)
> 
> Larry AU, SFW, 1,300 words. Lies and deception.

_ “Yeah, um, yes, thanks, that would be good. I’ve got the last meetups for the movie these next few of days though. Are you free tonight?” _

_ “Yeah, of course. Wait, are you going to be able to make that dinner Thursday?” _

_ What? _

_ “Huh?” _

_ “The dinner? That I helped organize, you said you’d come too?“ _

_ … _

Can you really call a black skinny jeans’ stylish casual?

The way they hug Harry’s ass is definitely anything but casual.

Harry looks  _ hot.  _ So hot, that Louis shocks himself with the intensity of his thoughts. And the excessiveness of staring, and utter absence of platonic feels. But it is only very sideline, the shock, and with some surprise, Louis realizes he just doesn’t give a shit.

As he lets Harry wander slightly ahead, Louis does look at his feet. Or, rather, he slowly, indulgently glides his gaze down long legs, feasting darkened eyes..

_ Fuck. _

How?! How can he even??

This is definitely on purpose.

As Harry disappears into the cab, one leg at a time, Louis inhales a deep breath of preparation, pulling at his tie to loosen it. He is going to have to sit next to that for a whole ten minutes.

Oh, fuck that. He is going to  _ get  _ to sit next to that for a whole ten minutes.

…

He doesn’t even stop himself looking, Harry realizes with surprise. When he was getting dressed for tonight, he was expecting a flustered, fumbling Louis with his fidgeting fingers and his restless eyes and his burning cheeks. Instead, he got  _ this.  _ Dark eyes glued to his figure, a deep husk of a voice, and a top button popped under a loosened tie.

He’ll take it. He will most definitely fucking take it.

…

Louis does get asked to speak, briefly. To conclude the other speeches, and let the dinner begin. And Harry has paid attention to the speeches, because this is a cause he respects, but if Louis doesn’t stop looking at him like that, it will rapidly become a cause that involves him directly. He has managed to somehow focus on the speeches, even though Louis was sitting in the speakers’ seats against the far wall, seeming to have other things on his mind.

Specifically things to do with the way Harry crosses his legs, it would appear.

After Louis' brief, charismatic end speech, during which Harry seems to be the only one to notice anything different, despite ruffled hair and a dishevelled collar, they somehow – god knows how, because Harry was _ not  _ focused – end up sitting at a table with two sponsors and a few of Louis' fellow organizers. Sitting opposite Harry, with Harry’s legs out of sight, Louis looks remarkably professional, making charming conversation and looking quietly confident. As usual, Harry notes. It’s quite appealing. But then Harry giggles at something, and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and Louis’ eyes do hover on Harry – dark, deep, and hungry.

Oh. Harry feels hot in the head. How can Louis look so composed, whilst simultaneously looking at him like he’s about to pull him into a dark alley and rip his clothes off?

Okay, wow. Harry wasn’t expecting  _ himself  _ to end up this turned on. It is an occurrence that his body is definitely still getting used to. He shifts in his seat nervously, before giving in to the sinking feeling in his stomach and excusing himself. He heads absently to where he vaguely assumes the bathrooms might be, wandering between fooded tables and peopled chairs, preoccupied with the images of Louis' collarbones and neck and jawline, until he reaches a small maze of narrow hallways. The ladies’ room is right there, which means the men’s must be too, Harry vaguely registers, lost in thought.

He has no time to get found from thought, because suddenly there are determined footsteps approaching him, and he is pushed harshly against the wall; the slam forcing air out of his lungs in a surprised gasp, possessive hands grabbing his waist, as he is pinned to the wall by a small frame of raging want. His heart thumps heavily when Louis' mouth bites and sucks at his neck, and frantic hands claim their way down to his ass. Harry moans, when his legs are pushed apart, if rather easily, by Louis' thigh, even as his hot mouth licks and bites and kisses messily up to underneath his ear. Harry’s hands fly unconsciously to Louis' shoulders, and Louis' hair, holding on for support and pulling in for  _ more,  _ when Louis' thigh pushes into him and his hips ride forward in a frenzy of want and friction. Harry moans, as quietly as he can, gripping and pulling and panting, as a hungry hand slides up his stomach and ribs and to his nipple, and teeth bite harshly at his throat, and a hot tongue soothes, and hips twitch and fingers rub at a hard nipple. He moans because the hand palming him is Louis', and the teeth sinking into his skin are Louis', and the tongue, swirling heat against bite marks, is Louis'; and the hips riding into him are Louis', and Louis' breath is hot on his neck and his thigh is firm against Harry and  _ fuck.  _ Harry grips tighter at Louis' hair, and Louis wants him,  _ now,  _ and the thought is overwhelming.

But he wants Louis too, and he is about to pull Louis into a kiss, when suddenly a strong slam shakes the wall he is pressed into, and Louis bounces away startled, and oh, there’s a tall woman is looking at them, shocked still on her way out of the bathroom. Louis is panting, looking wildly out of control with his hair dishevelled and eyes dark, mouth messy and slightly ajar; and Harry is still pressed against the wall, shaking slightly with surprise and want and adrenaline. So Harry understands, a bit, when the woman lingers after her apology, and looks them up and down, gaze lingering on his neck, and asks, “Is everything okay in here?” But he resents it still, because Louis mutters something intelligible and rushes past her and then he’s gone, lost into the maze of narrow hallways. The woman apologizes, something about interrupting, and asks if he is okay, and Harry nods vaguely and disappears behind a door that says Mens and  _ fuck,  _ just  _ fuck.  _ He leans against the sinks, catching his breath, willing the need between his legs to subside. He looks up into the mirror, at his own flustered face, and then straightens up in surprise, examining the trail of love bites and teeth marks covering the creamy skin of his throat.

Louis' marks.

He runs two fingers over them. The skin is tender to touch.

His heart races and his mind reels, because how can it not? Louis' lips, his fucking kissable lips that he did not kiss tonight, that completely attacked his neck. That won’t stop invading his every fucking thought.

Harry clenches his jaw. With a final glance in the mirror, because he is finding it difficult to avert his eyes, Harry leaves.

He goes back to get his bag from their table, where a few people are still talking, and thank god that he’s brought a scarf too, because this strategically placing his hair thing really isn’t going to work, and when he exits into the harsh English air and hails a cab, the destination he gives isn’t his house. It is his school, because it’s still not too late to join the movie wrap party, and why the fuck wouldn’t he? If Louis is going to keep running away, then he is going to quit thinking about him, one way or another. Even if it means distracting himself with someone who won’t run away.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for stuff and things and loveliness! And putting up with my constant updates. You are fab and nice and great. Deserving of cookies, for sure. Maybe even soup. EXCEPT FOR THOSE WHO UNGRACIOUSLY REJECT IT JUST BECAUSE OF SLIGHT SALMONELLA RISKS.


	16. Part 16: Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry AU, SFW, 1,500 words. Lies and deception, BELIEVE NOTHING I WRITE EVER. A/N:

_ He goes back to get his bag from their table, where a few people are still talking, and thank god that he’s brought a scarf too, because this strategically placing his hair thing really isn’t going to work, and when he exits into the harsh English air and hails a cab, the destination he gives isn’t his house. It is his school, because it’s still not too late to join the movie wrap party, and why the fuck wouldn’t he? If Louis is going to keep running away, then he is going to quit thinking about him, one way or another. Even if it means distracting himself with someone who won’t run away. _

_ … _

It is surprisingly easy, to end up making out in the side room with a boy you barely know, when you storm into a party in skin-tight jeans and everyone is already drunk. All it takes is one communicative look, and Nick is following him out into the side room, and they are tumbling over some pointy things and papers, and they are kissing; and Nick is a good kisser, if a little hammered.

It’s increasingly intense, possibly due to Harry’s growing frustration. Nick’s lips are soft and they feel good, but somehow Louis' are softer and firmer at the same time; and there is just the right amount of tongue, and it feels good, and Nick’s hands are surely not doing anything much different to what Louis' were doing, and it feels good.

And so Harry kisses. It’s good. It’s easy his hands feel a little shaky and he can feel an excited, nervous strain in his breathing. It’s different and exciting and good.

But as much as he kisses and tugs closer and breathes heavy, he can’t bring himself to  _ want  _ it. There is no lust that makes his heart pound and his knees wobble, no intimacy that makes his chest rush. No  _ need  _ that has his fingers gripping and his hands pulling closer. This isn’t what he is looking for.

But he kisses, persisting, forcing an intens­­ity into his lips that doesn’t burn in his core, willing his fingers to grip and pull what they don’t want closer.

Until Nick moves to kiss his neck.

And it is the other side, the side unmarked by Louis, but his stomach twists, and it is too wrong, it feels wrong, and not okay at all. He pushes away, abruptly, awkward hands shoving frantically to break Nick’s grip.

He doesn’t care that he is mumbling something to Nick who looks confused and drunk and attractive, and then running out. He isn’t bothered by what Nick will think. He doesn’t care that it’s raining. He doesn’t care that people might talk. He doesn’t even care that he has just confirmed that what he  _ wants,  _ what makes his heart pound and his knees wobble and his chest rush, and fingers grip and hands pull, is Louis.

Louis left.

He grabbed him and kissed his neck and literally humped him against the wall, and then he left. After kissing him for half a night and then pushing him away, and then kissing him on his bed and making him fucking  _ come  _ and then pushing him away  _ again,  _ he went and did that and fucking left.

What the fuck even  _ is  _ that!

Harry rages, heated head and confused thoughts and gritted teeth, as he speeds down a wet, dark, familiar road and up to the front door of Louis and Liam’s building.

Of course it is locked. Harry grits his teeth and buzzes the doorbell.

_ “Hello?”  _ sounds Liam’s distorted voice from the speaker.

“Yeah, it’s me. Buzz me in.”

A confused hum sounds, and some commotion, but then the door buzzes, and Harry pushes his body against it and it opens, heavily, and he is inside.

Harry runs up the stairs, knowing that the elevator is old and unreliable, and runs into Liam near the top. He mumbles something and squeezes his arm and gives him a look in passing, and then he’s off, speeding down the stairs with light footsteps.

The door opens under his knock.

***

“What the  _ hell,  _ Louis?”

Harry is  _ pissed _ . He is standing at Louis' door, looking wet and exasperated and hurt, and most of all, pissed.

Louis moves out of the way, for Harry to storm inside.

“Harry, I’m sor-“

“No,” Harry cuts him off. “No, you don’t get to apologize.” Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Harry raises a stopping hand. “Let me talk.” Even now, he waits for Louis' nod. “You don’t get to apologize, because  _ fuck,  _ Louis. Maybe you were sorry that first time, and didn’t want anything, and that’s fine. I understood that. I took you by surprise, you regretted it, end of story. Except that it  _ wasn’t  _ the end of story, was it, because  _ you  _ kissed  _ me,  _ Louis. And did a lot more than kiss me, if I remember correctly, which I fucking do. And that doesn’t seem entirely apologetic, but you were  _ sorry,  _ again. And fine. Okay. I went with it. Platonic time, we said. Except that this _ ,  _ is  _ not  _ platonic!” Harry motions in an exasperated gesture. “Friends don’t look at each other like their self-control fuses have been lit and burning. Friends don’t hump each other against the wall! I’m angry with you, and the only thing I want to do is grab you and kiss you, Louis. That is not friends.” He stills opposite Louis, looking him in the eye, half desperately and half resolutely. “You’re keeping me in limbo, and I’m done with it. You can’t have both. You’re either sorry or you’re not.”

They stare at each other silently, Harry breathing heavily and still fuming, and Louis with an indistinguishable look on his face.

“Yeah,” Louis allows. “You’re right. Platonic time isn’t working for us. But Harry, what am I supposed to do?” Louis begs. “I wake up, and your face is  _ right there.  _ And I’m still fucking reeling from your stunt in the car! What the hell were you expecting? And then you  _ watch me undress,  _ Harry _.”  _ Harry blushes. “And then you go and you kiss some other boy and then you freaking – you  _ kissed my neck _ , Harry.  _ Right after _ we said platonic time. I’m trying to guide this safely and protect myself but I  _ can’t,  _ I can’t when you show up wearing  _ that  _ and then you look at me all night and then you  _ walk away, Harry,  _ and you know your ass looks good in those jeans, so how am I meant to keep myself together when you are so insistently determined to make it hard!”

“I don’t understand why you need to protect yourself so much, Louis!” Harry asks, in exasperated confusion more than anger now.

Louis looks away. It is a while before he speaks.

“Because if I don’t, and you… If you change your mind, it could really crush me,” he mutters.

Harry considers, for a whole minute. He considers, because even though his mind clearly has no intention of changing, Louis' vulnerability always hits a soft spot. He wishes he could say something, to comfort him, to reassure him, but he can’t, so he steps closer, and wraps his hands around Louis' waist, and buries his face into the crook of Louis' neck, and sighs when slender arms wrap around his and small hands hold.

“I can’t tell you that I’m not going to change my mind, because I can’t know that, no one can know that, and people who think they can are deluded. But I know it, as much as is humanly possible. If I wasn’t sure, I would never put you in this position. I would never risk hurting you.” He can hear Louis' shaky exhale, and feel his throat swallow against his shoulder, and he stays, holding Louis, as Louis relaxes, slowly, against him.

“Harry?” Louis mumbles into his scarf, Harry’s scarf, which smells of Harry. Harry hums back. “I don’t… I don’t know how we should go about this.”

Harry doesn’t either. “Can’t we just… Be? Together?” his voice wavers a little, he can feel it shake in his throat, but doesn’t think it is evitable.

“I feel like we should… take it slowly, you know, go out,” Louis mumbles uncertainly.

Harry wants to say that they’ve known each other for ten years, and hardly need a date, but in the interest of making this as easy for Louis as he can, he agrees reluctantly into Louis' shoulder.

But then Louis' hands shift a bit on his back, and Harry breathes in sharply in response, abruptly aware that his tight shirt is probably not helping Louis' gay little brain right now; and the notion does things to his body, even as he summons all the willpower to move out of Louis' space. But small hands keep him there, and it is enough for Harry to give up trying, and he nuzzles his face into Louis' neck more sensually.

“We shouldn’t,” Louis mumbles half-heartedly, even as his body presses forward, and his hands move lower, lower down Harry’s back, and Harry hums back in half-hearted agreement, and nips at Louis' soft skin, prompting a gasp and an arch and a tighter grip.

_ ‘Fuck’  _ is the overriding thought in Harry’s mind, as they frantically stumble to Louis' room.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for all stuff always and also have a good week on my behalf because I have just discovered that my coffee got cold and that is perfectly sufficient reason to be miserable.


	17. Part 17: Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry AU, SFW (please don’t strike me, it’s almost deserving of an ish), 2,100 words. Lies and deception, all of it. But a girl can dream. (So can everyone else. We don’t do gender roles here at haveyouseenmyuser. We just happen to be a girl… with racy Larry dreams, apparently.)

_ “We shouldn’t,” Louis mumbles half-heartedly, even as his body presses forward, and his hands move lower, lower down Harry’s back, and Harry hums back in half-hearted agreement, and nips at Louis' soft skin, prompting a gasp and an arch and a tighter grip. _

‘Fuck’  _ is the overriding thought in Harry’s mind, as they frantically stumble to Louis' room. _

_ … _

Fuck.

This is it. This is what he wanted. Louis. Louis' lips are kissing him, and Louis' hands are touching him, and Harry can taste him and smell him and feel him.

How can this still be getting better? He’d honestly thought that the last time they were on this bed, was the peak, the exception.

Maybe it’s the fact that Louis has pushed him down on the bed, and Harry can feel his weight, and it is in all the right places. And when Harry pulls him closer, it is nearly redundant, because Louis isn’t holding back. Or maybe it is the fact that Louis has given up trying to stay in control, and is quite overwhelmingly giving in to his body’s urges. Urges to grip and touch and kiss and take.

It’s still intimate. It takes Harry by surprise, how something so lustful and physical can be so ridden with emotion still. But somehow, Louis' hungry mouth is still soft, and gentle, even when it is neither. And his hands don’t feel intrusive, even when they claim possessively.

He doesn’t feel uncomfortable, he realizes. Louis feels this way because the rough and the possessive is welcomed, by Harry. Louis is the first person whose lust hasn’t made him uncomfortable.

It makes him a little bit nervous, this realization, as does the unfamiliarity of this want. But it is Louis, and Harry wants, so he is unsurprised when his own hands snake under Louis' shirt, and touch the soft skin of Louis' lower back. And Louis gasps, and jerks into him, and it strikes Harry how even now, when he is pinning Harry down on his bed, holding all the control in his lips and hands and hips, Louis is still exposed, still vulnerable to Harry’s touch. The notion is an arousing one, due or despite the intimacy of its implication.

Harry’s hands trail higher, gripping at Louis' shoulder blades now, holding him closer, and Louis breaks the kiss, burying his face to whimper against Harry’s neck when his hips ride forward, helplessly in all their control.

It is like a power struggle within Louis, between aggressive lust and intimate vulnerability, as soft hands claim roughly and pinning hips ride helplessly. As any of Louis' struggles would, it alarms Harry; but vaguely, because he wants both sides, all sides, either side. He just wants.

Lust seems to win over, when Louis bridles his want and presses his warm, soft mouth back to Harry’s, and his tongue,  _ fuck  _ his tongue pushes in against Harry’s own, and Harry moans around it, because how can someone taste so relentlessly comfortable? His own hips curl up now, into Louis, and Louis breathes a low grunt as his hands slide urgently down, between their bodies, to tug at Harry’s shirt. But it is tight, and Louis and Harry moan in unison into each other, as Louis slips his hands up under it, and Harry closes his legs as tightly as they will clench, just to find some pressure, and his hands skate up Louis' overheated skin to emerge from his shirt’s collar and grip at hair. Louis' hands don’t stop, reaching hungrily all the way to Harry’s ribs, bunching up black material as they go, and exposing soft white skin.

Harry breaks away, kissing a sloppy trail down to Louis' neck, and Louis seems entirely distracted when his hips ride into Harry reflexively, and one hand slips instinctively higher up under tight material to the valley between Harry’s nipples, while the other emerges to fumble with the zipper of his jeans frantically.

As frantic fingers yank his zipper down, and then the jeans are being ripped away from his body; and Harry can’t remember why he wore lace today, but he did and he is glad, because Louis groans and grunts and grips at his waist, overwhelmed and not knowing where to start. Harry untangles one graciously tangled arm from under Louis' shirt, and runs fingers through soft brown bangs, and brings Louis' face back to his lips, and kisses, kisses deeply but softly and reassuringly, until Louis has regained some control.

Louis' hands slide up and down the bare skin of his sides, and Harry feels exposed, because Louis is still wearing all of his clothes. Louis seems to be able to taste his reluctance, because he slows slightly, and trails a path of nips and kisses down to the unmarked side Harry’s neck, and then collarbone, and  _ okay,  _ Harry shivers, and grips Louis' hair, and breathes a gasp, and now there is really no other way this will end, is there?

_ Fuck,  _ he needs to – Louis should know, but Louis feels too good right now, so when Harry pulls him up, their lips crash together, urgently, deeply, and Harry’s hands go instinctively to Louis' face, fingers curling loosely next to Louis' mouth. Louis slows as a result, but it is deep, and sensual, and Harry brings him closer, deeper, and it takes him long minutes to mumble an unintelligible, unconvinced “wait” into Louis' lips. Louis hums in response, and his hands are curled into fists to stay restrained, and Harry can feel his frantic heartbeat in the entirety of his body. He dips his head down to under Harry’s ear, and the sound of his breathless breathing is really not helping Harry form coherent words.

“Louis, wait,” he breathes.  _ Don’t stop,  _ he thinks, and so do his hands, which seem to recoil against his words by pulling Louis closer by the shoulders.

Louis pauses against his ear, and hums, and Harry gasps a little before stuttering. “I’ve um… I’ve never…” he trails of, and Louis kisses his skin again.

“Yeah, I know,” he husks gently, and Harry can’t take it, shit,  he can’t, so he brings Louis' face back up to his and  _ kisses,  _ before mumbling again. “No, I mean, I’ve never.”

Louis breaks away, looking down at him, and Harry blushes a little at his confession when he sees realization slowly, slowly cross Louis' face.

“You… oh. Not even with girls?” Louis asks, somewhat confused and very dazed, because Harry is very nearly naked, and this is the first time Louis is far enough away to see, but Harry is blushing and biting his lip and trying to look away, so those are not viable thoughts right now.

Louis lets Harry cast his eyes down, look away, and be silent for a bit. The confession makes his heart thunder and swell and he feels relieved, somehow; eased. He takes the time to look at Harry’s face, which is hot and blushed and his lips are swollen and red and his hair is messy and  _ fuck,  _ Louis could stay in his personal space forever, if only his hips were not so insistent in trying to break the moment. He shifts up a bit with his lower body, so that his dick is not pressed into Harry’s, and as a result their faces inch closer, and okay, Louis can go with this.

He slowly, gently, lifts Harry’s chin with a single tip of a finger.  Harry meets his eyes, and nods a tiny nod, looking shy and young and _ ,  _ just,  _ hot. _ His heart hurts.

Louis presses a soft kiss to swollen, red lips that feel full against his own, before pressing a smooch to a blushing cheek.

“It’s okay, Harry,” he whispers against the skin. “I just didn’t know. But it’s okay.”

‘Okay’ doesn’t really cut it, if he’s honest, but Louis can’t even explain this sudden surge of emotion to himself, let alone to Harry, so, ‘okay’ it is.

Harry exhales a shuddery breath, and wraps his arms around Louis' waist, warmly; and Louis lets them tumble over, so that they are lying on their sides with Harry’s face buried into his chest, and Louis' arms wrapped protectively around him.

Louis doesn’t say anything, only holding, but the holding feels secluded and trusty and Harry does finally speak.

“I was just never comfortable enough with anyone before. Or into anyone that way. Courtesy of my closetness, probably,” he chuckles slightly. Louis hums a smile.

He unwraps one arm, holding tighter with the other, to reach somewhere next to him and produce a shirt, for Harry to awkwardly struggle into, prompting a small fond chuckle on Louis' part.

A few minutes pass, a few minutes of comfortable warm breathing, and concealed nuzzles and mingling scents, and long fingers playing softly with fabric.

“Umm…” Harry breathes against Louis' shirt. “You know, when we were last here?” Harry hints quietly. Louis hums a confirmation into his temple. “Yeah, I’ve never…” he buries his face deeper into Louis' soft, cuddly warmth. “That was the first time, that that’s happened. With someone.”

Louis stays silent, pressing an innocent smooch to Harry’s cheek.

The gesture makes Harry’s heart warm. He smiles, and it doesn’t make him self-conscious to know that Louis can feel it against his chest.

“Do you think it’s weird?” Harry questions after an indefinite period of calm time.

“No.”

“But I’m eighteen,” Harry blushes, adding a small ‘ _ barely’  _ of self-conscious reflex in his head.

“Yeah. So? It’s not about age.”

“No?” Harry hums. “No, I don’t think so either.”

They lie for a while longer.

Breathing is intimate, Harry realizes. Very much so. Because Harry’s face is nuzzled into Louis' chest, which rises and falls in steady rhythm, and it is simple and personal and innocent, somehow; and the space is growing hot with Harry’s breath, and Louis must feel it, because Louis' own breath is very much felt where it caresses Harry’s cheek, in little huffs synched with his heart’s rhythm.

“What do you think it’s about?” Harry whispers. “Being ready?”

“Hmm,” Louis considers. “No… Being comfortable enough, I think. Not just with someone else, but yourself, as well. Or maybe that’s what ‘ready’ means.”

Harry stretches up to warmly kiss his neck, once.

“You know, I only said anything because I thought you should know…” Harry whispers. “I was comfortable. I  _ am _ comfortable.” Louis hums vaguely.

His mouth accepts, when Harry’s searches to tentatively press into it; and Harry can feel Louis' heart stumble and rush under his palm, and his fingers quiver at the bare skin of Harry’s back. And Louis complies, when Harry deepens the kiss and caresses his hand up to Louis' neck. But Harry is initiating now. Even when Louis' arms pull tighter, and his mouth opens wider at Harry’s silent request and he shivers, and Harry’s hand gently grips his hair and he sighs, Louis is still only responding.

They kiss for a while; but a lot less intensely than before, because it is Harry now, and Harry doesn’t know how, and cannot initiate with his want and passion the way Louis can. He can only grip gently, and ask, with his warm mouth and his trembling fingers. And he can respond, with soft gasps and small hums, when Louis' tongue enters between his lips, and small fingers trace tenderness on his back. And he can moan softly, no, he  _ has  _ tomoan softly, when Louis kisses his neck; and he can wrap soft fingers into softer hair, and mumble Louis' name, and clench around nothing when Louis groans, his mouth on Harry’s pulse point. And when he breathes “I want you” into Louis' hair, it seems like the only thing he  _ can  _ do. And Louis softly whines, and buries his face into the pillow beside Harry’s head; and Harry kisses his neck, and sucks vaguely, even as Louis mumbles a breathy “I can’t.” And he looks small and vulnerable and so  _ his, _ that a wave of tender, possessive attachment washes over Harry, and he kisses swollen lips that are soft and kissable and Louis', and Louis is Harry’s, and his lips are Harry’s to kiss, and Harry feels like he might explode with all this emotion.

“Okay,” he mumbles against Louis. “That’s okay. But I want you. I want it to be you.”

And Louis kisses, in a way that is entirely unselfish, as he rolls gently on top of Harry.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, thanks for all the things.


	18. Part 18: Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes hello this is the last part!!!! There may be more to come in the future but at this point this is how i've chosen to end it.   
> It’s good to see you all! I hope you enjoy.

_ “Yeah, I know,” he husks gently, and Harry can’t take it, shit,  he can’t, so he brings Louis' face back up to his and kisses, before mumbling again. “No, I mean, I’ve never.” _

_ Louis breaks away, looking down at him, and Harry blushes a little at his confession when he sees realization slowly, slowly cross Louis' face. _

_ “You… oh.“ _

_ (…) _

_ “Okay,” [Harry] mumbles against Louis. “That’s okay. But I want you. I want it to be you.” _

_ And Louis kisses, in a way that is entirely unselfish, as he rolls gently on top of Harry. _

_ … _

_ Louis. _

It seems to be the overriding theme, screaming in his mind’s jumbled haze, thudding in his heart’s frantic heartbeat, sounding on his shivered, gasped moans. The soft lips upon his are Louis', and the shirt within his fists is Louis', and the huffs upon his cheek are Louis'. Louis.

So when Louis dips his head down, to suck vaguely at the sensitive skin just under his ear, and breathes “Are you sure, Harry?,” there is no doubt about what he wants. He whimpers softly, gripping at Louis' hair and Louis' shirt, and nods.

“Yes—ngh,” he grunts mid-word, when Louis' thigh slips between his own, and his own hips twitch up in surprise. “Yeah. Just.” He pauses. Louis turns, to look him in the eye, with those eyes, those blue eyes that say  _ I will give you absolutely anything _ . “Just take it slow,” Harry mutters, because even though he  _ wants Louis _ , wants him  _ now _ , he isn’t prepared, isn’t ready, hasn’t had time to adjust to his body’s reactions and urges – they still make him anxious and vaguely unsettled, in a rush of fear and vulnerability. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because the first moment Harry’s confused lips pressed into the flushed skin of Louis' cheek that night on the sofa bed, his vulnerability was placed entirely into Louis' hands, with trust so deep, that any personal readiness, any leftover anxiety Harry might feel about the prospect of sex, is completely irrelevant. Because this is Louis.

And Louis is nodding, and then kissing him, deeply and slowly, allowing Harry’s long fingers to pull him in by the shirt. “Tell me, if you want to stop,” he whispers into Harry’s soft, pliant mouth, before kissing his way to a blushed cheek. “Okay?” he murmurs against the skin.

Harry swallows, distractedly, nodding a vague compliance, thinking that it really doesn’t matter, but glad anyway for the comforting option, and the complete sincerity from Louis' mouth.

Which, speaking of, is trailing it’s burning way to Harry’s ear, to nip at his lobe, Louis' hands pressing his body down when his back arches in a jolt of arousal. Louis pushes his hips forward, just tentatively, as if testing the waters, and Harry strains, and grunts, and Louis kisses him again, reminding him to breathe. And Harry does; albeit sharply, because Louis' fingers slip accidentally under his shirt; and Harry gasps, and Louis' hand flinches away in reflex, bracing against the mattress instead. He hums a vaguely apologetic note, doing nothing now but kissing, softly, almost teasingly in a very sincere way, but Harry curses himself for needing to take it slow.

Unthinkingly, he slides one hand to Louis', and the guilty hand complies, when Harry takes it shyly back to where it grazed skin, moments ago. Louis' hands both slip in then, in comforting agreeance, smoothing goosebumps and shivers up bare skin, and Harry’s own long fingers fly into Louis' hair and grip, bring him deeper, and  _ fuck.  _ The flick of Louis' tongue in his mouth draws a whimper, one louder than before, and Louis rides slowly forward again, and it’s all a bit too hot for Harry, who breaks the kiss to pant a strained grunt into the air. Louis takes the chance, and tugs Harry out of his shirt completely, before lowering back to rest above him, kissing calming, languid kisses at his throat and jaw, letting him relax and breathe.

“You okay?” Louis murmurs against his skin.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, and fidgets, when his fingers find the hem of Louis' shirt, because he doesn’t know how to do this, and Louis is pressing his body closer, restricting Harry any access, and it feels like a concealed denial when Louis reaches down for his hands and tugs them back to his shoulders, his hair. But Harry is shy, and feeling a little needy at the refusal, so he doesn’t insist, instead hugging Louis closer, because that isn’t denied.

Louis kisses him for a long time, rocking forward gently every so often, and it is slow and gives Harry time to grasp the fact that this is  _ Louis,  _ dipping into his intimate bubble of personal space, dipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth; and he is  _ so close – _ you don’t realize, when you see a kiss, how incredibly close two faces are. How personal it is. How different, when the person whose mouth you feel against your own is actually the person that you  _ want  _ there, when the taste on your tongue means something.

…

Louis is aware, that Harry seems to be continuously pulling him in. He is hugging his shoulders, or gripping his hair or doing the thing he does, the thing where he holds Louis' face between two softly curled fists.

Louis loves the thing. It’s gentler, somehow. More intimate than cupping between palms. It makes him feel protective, protective of Harry’s vulnerability, but it crushes him, too. It is like fluttery nudges of innocence, crushing his walls into crumble. It’s disconcerting.

But now Harry’s hands are in his hair, tugging desperately, and Louis instinctively bites a sensitive lower lip, facing a grunt and an arch and it makes sense, when his fingers grip at Harry’s hips, holding him in place as he rocks into him, more determinedly; and Harry moans, and grips his shoulders. It is electric with tension, yet tender in its instinctiveness, when Louis kisses and nips his way down Harry’s throat, willing his hips not to ride forward when the smell, the taste, reminds him of earlier. It doesn’t help when his tongue swirls against the skin of Harry’s chest, and Harry’s fingers fist tighter in his hair, but he kisses down anyway, until he is nuzzled right above Harry’s nipples.

_ Fuck, Harry, why are you this hot?  _ Louis takes a moment, he has to take a moment, of just breathing, keeping control, for Harry. He is breathing in Harry, and it should make things worse, but it inexplicably soothes him, somehow.

He looks up. Harry is looking back at him, breathing heavily, so Louis kisses once at his sternum, and nuzzles gently, in a manner meant more as a pause than anything; and Harry breathes, and relaxes, resting an arm on Louis' shoulder, fiddly fingers tangling into locks. He gives a small nod, and Louis' head spins, spins from the scent of Harry’s skin and the rising of his chest and– but Harry is looking at him still, and so Louis holds his eyes.

Louis props himself higher, and he knows he is looking, he knows, and he feels his stomach twist with guilt and excitement and fear and arousal, all at once, as he crashes his lips back to Harry’s. Hands tug unexpectedly at his hips, and Louis gasps a moan as they jerk in response, and  _ fuck, this is going to be harder than I thought. _

He realizes his hands have grabbed at the single piece of clothing separating this from the point of no return, and he fiddles shakily with the material, simultaneously nervous and aroused; but Harry brings gentle hands to his face, with fingers that somehow seem steadiest when Louis' heart wants to beat out of his chest, and does the thing that Harry does; curling his fingers, slowing down, mumbling Louis' name until Louis kisses a last hard kiss, and breaks away to look at him.

He reads reassurance and hesitance and want, in the long moment of eye contact, before Harry bites his lip and glances once down their bodies.

“Are you really going to do this fully clothed?”

Louis stays still, for a short moment of conflict. With a twist in his stomach because the question sounded shaky, insecure; and even though it wasn’t at all accusatory, Louis can’t anymore, his walls can’t withstand, not when Harry is lying underneath him, looking at him with big, honest eyes. Louis exhales a tense breath and kisses swollen, sensitive lips, with a passion, an urge, not just for Harry’s body, but for his closeness. How can he deny the same to Harry?

“Okay,” he mumbles. “But I want tonight to be about you. Okay?”

…

Harry thinks about what this means, or attempts to, over the haze in his head and the storm in his chest, and the want between his legs.

Louis doesn’t want to be touched?

Louis doesn’t want  _ Harry _ to touch him?

Louis grasps his hands, which are feeling particularly fragile at the moment, and leads them to his hips, where they tangle softly into fabric and wait, summoning courage until Louis' lips slow, and peck once, and blue eyes find green.

Surely this is an okay thing to ask for, when the intimacy of their tangled lips and searching eyes sends Harry’s fingers reaching for skin, of their own volition. And Harry wants this; so surely this is about Harry anyway?

Surely, even if it does settle an unwelcome guilty feeling in Harry’s chest.

Louis watches Harry, as cold hands sneak up hot skin, caressing curiously, not rushed now like they were that last time.

He cooperates, sitting up and letting Harry slip him out of his shirt.

…

Louis is not prepared for this, at all. Because Harry  _ looks,  _ gently and deliberately and in a way that makes Louis feel like  _ he  _ is being looked at, rather than his body, however little sense that makes. And they’re sitting up now, so the control is not altogether his to take, he isn’t holding Harry under him anymore. Harry is opposite him, but close, close enough that Louis can feel faint breathing against the skin of his chest, and Harry isn’t wearing much at all, leaving Louis to bow his head, and bite the inside of his cheek, and try to stare at the messy sheets.

He has no choice but to keep still, and shiver in silence, when Harry reaches out a tentative hand and strokes his collarbone, and his shoulder, tracing his fingertips with his eyes, and then  _ leans in,  _ and kisses sweetly at his skin. Louis inhales sharply, and Harry leans away to glance up at his face, and seems to read something there that surprises him.

He looks for a moment longer, tilting his head slightly, until he shuffles closer in quiet motions, and folds his endless legs under himself, nestling between Louis' own.

Harry studies Louis' eyes, pushing a few strands of hair behind his ear, resting his arm against Louis' bare shoulder, fingertips playing at the nape of his neck. He leans close, dipping down to press his lips against Louis' shoulder, neck, and it tickles and burns and hurts in the most soothing way, leaving feathery panic trembling in his throat. And then Harry reaches up, resting his hands calmly on Louis' shoulders, to smooch affectionately at his cheek.

_ Jesus, Harry, what are you doing to me? _

Something in Louis gives, when Harry’s mouth presses against his, and a curled hand strokes his cheek; and he allows his hands to wrap around Harry’s naked torso, and hold him close.

Harry doesn’t seem to be able to look, insistent on keeping their mouths kissing, and Louis can almost  _ hear  _ his eyes squeezing tightly shut; but his hands come to rest gently on Louis' sternum, and when Louis hugs their naked bodies against each other, Harry moans, and drops his head to Louis' shoulder. Louis, who feels like his chest might burst.

Louis leans into him, leading them back into a lying position.

…

This is a lot more intimate now, Harry realizes. Louis' skin is soft and bare under his hands, and his entire demeanour seems somehow stripped of protection, exposed, leaving Harry torn between w _ anting  _ him, and wanting to hold him and soothe him.

Harry isn’t sure how or when, because Louis is kissing harder now, pressing his hips forward, but his own long fingers find and twist open the button of Louis' jeans, and push the zipper down, and Louis wiggles out of his jeans, and for the first time, they are equal, together in their nakedness.

Their kisses become messier, pressed too close together by Harry’s gripping hands, when Louis' palm traces slowly down Harry’s stomach. And Harry’s mind, too, grows increasingly messier with the want and anticipation. As the kisses grow breathless with Harry’s soft, grunted panting, Louis kisses instead down Harry’s cheek, pressing closely, towards the bruised and tender side of his neck, for the first time.

“Shit, Louis,” Harry pants into his cheek, gripping his shoulders closer, when Louis strokes his tongue soothingly over the bruised pulse point, and tucks and nips and licks, as his hand reaches further, the tips of his fingers dipping under the waistline of Harry’s underwear, and halts.

…

“Louis,” Harry struggles again, his breath hitching, and his face turning to press closer into the side of Louis', panting softly into his ear, with intimacy that sends Louis' stomach twisting. He takes it as a sign of permission, because even though Harry’s thighs clench together as he slips his hand further down hot skin, Louis' shoulders are still being pulled impossibly in. Harry is holding his breath, and straining, Louis realizes, so he presses them closely into a messy kiss, and one hand grips into his hair, and  _ fuck, fuck. _

Harry moans into his mouth, and  _ grips _ , when Louis' fingers touch his dick for the first time.

Louis keeps still, pressing soft kisses to Harry’s mouth, letting him adjust, letting his own heartbeat adjust; but Harry strains more, arching, impatient, so Louis can do nothing but groan, and curse, and rub his fingertips along Harry’s dick, and try to contain himself when Harry moans, and buries his face into Louis, his cheek and his neck.

…

_ Fuck fuck fuck, how is this even possible? _ Harry can barely think, when he feels Louis' fingers slip backwards, almost dipping inside his hole, and  _ fuck.  _ Harry is glad that Louis seems in control, because he himself moans, and holds onto shoulders, and there are lips at his jaw, and he wants  _ more,  _ fuck, but how can he even ask? He can’t. He grips hair and brings Louis to his mouth, not caring that he moans into the kiss because Louis grunts too, and  _ bites _ , and  _ shit,  _ he can’t, he breaks away, and Louis' mouth hunts again along his sensitive neck, and through the vague pain and the relentlessly steady pace of Louis' fingers, Harry glances down; and there is just something completely indecent about seeing Louis' hand down his underwear, moving vaguely between his legs. He moans, his hips buck; and Louis gasps, right by his ear, and grunts his name.

It sends pleasure shooting from his lips’ whisper down to his fingers’ touch, when he husks “I want to taste you” against Harry’s ear, and rubs at his dick, and Harry feels his dick twitch. He grabs Louis' wrist, keeping his hand in place, while Louis seemingly stalls, kissing down Harry’s chest and to his stomach, giving both of them a minute to relax, until he reaches – and bites at – the dip of his hipbone. He pauses, hand still in Harry’s panties, and murmurs Harry’s name into the skin, in what sounds like a question; and Harry looks at him, at his dishevelled hair and blown pupils, until Louis gently unwraps Harry’s grip on his wrist and slides his fingers out of the underwear, making Harry shiver in the process. He grips Harry’s hips over the material.

“Can I?”

Harry pulls his fingers through Louis' mop of hair, in an attempt to calm mostly himself, but Louis closes his eyes and leans into it, and Harry can tell, he can see conflict and reluctance, so he nods, and swallows, and whispers “I trust you,” and Louis groans, leaning his forehead against a quivering stomach, as he slides thin fabric down long legs, closing together in self-consciousness but bending to cooperate.

Louis doesn’t toss the blue underwear aside; he holds them in his hand, and puts them on the mattress somewhere next to him, and Harry isn’t sure why the gesture stands out to him, but it does. He doesn’t have time to think about it though, because Louis is sitting in front of him, almost naked, and looking with unreadable eyes, biting his lower lip. He places small, hot hands on his knees, slowly, and Harry feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest as he slides them up his inner thighs, opening them slowly as they relax under his touch. Louis lowers himself on top of Harry, between his legs, and kisses his lips, gently and messily and sweetly, and teasing fingers touch him again.

It’s a bit quicker, and a bit more urgent this time, when Louis' mouth makes its way down Harry’s shivering body, and settles between his spread legs.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There, you got your sex. Thank you all for your patience and being so lovely and the few comment that I haven't been able to get back to yet - hi, I know I suck :).
> 
> Have an excellent weekend and thank you for liking, kudos-ing, and especially the comments, I <3 them.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’d love to hear your thoughts and feelings, if you have a surplus or something, idk, also [insert some sort of competent talk here]. And thank you for reading, and all the things!


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